


Countdown to Dawn

by perceptivefics



Series: Saga of the Signless [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Quadrant Vacillation, Slave Trade, Slavery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perceptivefics/pseuds/perceptivefics
Summary: Before facing his long overdue verdict, Dualscar recounts the harrowing tale of the Orphaner and the Signless: the humble beginnings of a revolutionary movement, how the Signless slowly changed Dualscar's ways aboard his own ship, and the forbidden red romance that erupted as a result. He may not be able to change the future, but he can - at the very least - preserve the integrity of the past.





	1. ==> Entry Log

**Author's Note:**

> [UPDATES BI-WEEKLY ON SATURDAY OR SUNDAY (to the best of my ability)]
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER: While I do my absolute best to avoid writing violence for the sake of "shock material", there WILL be a lot of triggering topics covered in this fic, generally implied or referenced and sometimes shown.** In addition, as a general rule, it is safe to assume that there will be some graphic content regardless. This is also a work of fiction. I do not, in any way, support or condone the acts of violence, cruelty, and abusive/inhumane treatment displayed from here on.
> 
> Most of the warnings tagged and literally this entire preamble are because, as I'm sure we can all agree, the work of an Orphaner is not exactly like being a Care Bear. Dualscar is a pirate, and he is not a very nice one. He both encourages and is complicit in the commission of many, _many_ heinous acts in his line of work. And while it is concluded he learns and grows in the future, take note that this entire story is strictly tied down to Dualscar's perspective on things. Therefore, it is already guaranteed that there WILL be things he misses, and **a flawed narrative is unavoidable.** Please keep this in mind if you feel I may have missed a poignant reaction by some character or another. While I will still do my best to display and account for as many outside responses as possible from others (especially Signless), some reader extrapolation is still likely required.
> 
> In addition to the warnings tagged to this fic for archiving purposes, I will also post **chapter-specific content lists** as required. This will be done for three reasons: reiterating anything already tagged, accounting for anything missed, and pulling off both while avoiding cluttering the official fic archive.
> 
> If I still haven't frightened you off after all that talk, thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read my fic. And if you've come to this point and decided this isn't for you, that's okay, too. I completely understand. Find what makes you happy. We're all just trying to navigate this hellish digital landscape of fantasy and fiction and coping mechanisms together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: mentions of slavery**

####  **Captain’s Log, the R.E.S. Angel’s Light**

_ Date: [REDACTED] _

 

Three days have gone by since my most invaluable treasure was taken from me by his closest circle. Three more now lay ahead before I make final landfall, provided that the wind is favorable. Although I find that “favorable,” in this instance, is a subjective term: there is little favor in the hearts of highbloods for traitors to Her Imperious Condescension.

 

However, I have time enough to record the final word of what happened here. There can be no account as good as mine, save the declarations of the Signless himself. The final voyage of the Angel’s Light is a perplexing and terrifying one, and I was one of the perpetrators of the debacle which has now led to its certain destruction.

 

I should be clear in my expectations: I do not hope to survive the rest of the sweep once I dock to port. Only two options assert themselves as possible in this situation: first, someone may have survived the attack, and gone on to alert some of Her Condescension’s most loyal subjects of my betrayal. Or - and this option I pray the more likely of the two - I will seek the nearest local authority and turn myself in. At least in that sense, they will have the pleasure of hearing the truth in my own words. Traitor though I may be, my standards remain the same as ever. I detest petty rumors and questionable sources. In my line of work, there is only room for facts and coordinates. A whisper of a treasure is as good as no treasure at all.

 

Should this be found by any troll in the future, be they of low or high color born, one may notice that this is no ordinary ship’s log. It is, in fact, divided altogether from the official records of the Angel’s Light. But to preserve these tales as true and unaltered, this is less a precaution and more a necessity. Part of the standard procedure for dealing with traitors is to strip them of their property. For any other instance, these belongings are usually held on bail before trial, as is the courtesy in proper highblood stations; but treasonous curs receive no such benefit. I cannot stop until I know I have done what I can. My sinful sleep in the hellish maw of the waiting void post-execution will be thrice as restless if I think these events erased from Alternian history.

 

I will not tell falsehoods: it is surely in part his teachings which now drive me to perform these deeds. But, influenced though I may be, the decision to complete this record is also my own choice. Which is precisely why, I imagine, there is about to be a lot more call in the near future for my Signless’s head on a pike. Until this point in time, his gatherings were regarded as little more than the mad urgings of a wailing lowblooded heathen. His crowds were picked apart by waiting vultures of the colder colors not because they feared what he preached, but because it was an easy way to keep the bodies in check.

 

But now, they will soon have proof that Signless is not just some other disgruntled whelp. He is no meaningless morsel screaming profanities and dreaming of things thought impossible. Where I am just the hapless victim who defected at his stories, he is the weaver of insubordination, and his power is such that he could even thaw the tendencies of one such as I. A violet royal - a seadweller - and an Orphaner, at that. I am as high and cold as one can comprehend upon the hemospectrum without being our illustrious Condescension herself. I have every reason to find his scripture deplorable, to think his words a horrendous mockery and a direct attack against all like colors. There was once such a time where I thought all of those very things, in fact. Yet I think back upon his time on my ship, and God help me, my bloodpusher swells with nothing but joy at the privilege of his presence. I will sorrow for long now that he is gone. He cannot even grace me with a final visit before the “trial.” His followers would not allow it, nor - I am certain - will the guards they will undoubtedly post at my cell.

 

Oh, how the walls of the courtroom chamber will quake! A fin-eared Captain, keeper of his own crew, slayer of thousands: shaken from his proper loyalties by someone so much smaller. Such is his lowness that his position on the spectrum is no existing position at all. What cleverness, what calm, what awe-inspiring power my little jewel must hold, to cross such boundaries! But there will be no returning to partners of colder persuasions, as is the only permitted standard for written Alternian romance. Never again will I lower my head to their expectations; this is what they will fear. For if he can capture the soul of a violet, who is to say he won’t ease the thoughts of others in similar hues, or even the iron grip of the Condesce herself? There is only one shade’s divide between us, after all, and until now, his only known participants did not scale any higher than a single odd-mannered jade.

 

They will certainly try to destroy evidence of this union. Already, I can predict the measures which shall be followed. The trial will not even be a proper one, to be sure. A proper trial would assume I am seeking final penance before death. They will ask me for information, but I will give them none. My head will roll without even a verdict. The Condesce, then - with her fingers on the pulse of this scandal - will order a thorough and immediate evisceration of my presence. Should any of my belongings at all survive the scourge, they will likely be circulated as trophies or gifts only between the Condesce and her closest consorts. Everything else will burn: my ship, all of my estates, my journals, my trophies, my compositions - nothing will be privy to the scrutiny of pause. In any land-bound public records or events where my name was recorded, it will be scratched out and replaced by some other troll far less upsetting in nature. They may even see proper enough to send them the appropriate rewards to make the record final. She cannot let it slip that the Signless has done the unthinkable, or her reign will suffer in ways she fears to think upon.

 

After I have been successfully written out of existence, the purge of the lowbloods will begin. My Signless will no longer hold the pitious title of an annoying young grass-kicker, harmless as a grub fresh out of the caverns. He will be marked as a capital threat - and the Condesce will, of course, posit that this was always the case. This way, she can systematically point her finger at other stations below her crown. A few decapitations and planted whisperings of inadequacy later, her hands will be clean of any ignorance. She will then declare, as is her birthright, the best way to handle a breed unique as my Signless: complete and utter destruction of his circle; all of his circle, from the youngest listener to the oldest apostle. And when none are left but the Signless, and perhaps some survivors of highest import, the Condesce will close his tale forever with public, violent torture. Followed by execution.

 

My dearest red treasure, I am so sorry. I can only beg that you forgive me even in death. We played a game of folly because I believed too much in a hopeless dream, and it will surely kill you. It was a beautiful story, although the ending is one I would care to change if ever I had the power. Alas, even the encouragement of your creed will not serve us here. All I can hope to do is preserve a firsthand record of our time together. I will bound it up in my love and pity and cast it to the sea. Thorough as she is, the Condesce will never think to scour the ocean floor for anything I may have hidden beneath the waves. Besides, she knows well that I have deposits which will be lost for all time once she destroys my personal effects, as only I can decipher the coding of their locations. This is as good as diving down to fetch the caches herself, so far as she is concerned.

 

But, now, where do I even begin? In my spare time between trophies, I was a writer of songs, not stories. This was something I am told was always more fitted to his chief disciple; though my Signless gives himself little credit where it is truly due. Such things he would say! Such tales he would whisper in my ears at night - from his cell, from the decks, from my quarters - anywhere he thought fitting for a lesson.

 

Ahhh, memories like this could have me going on for hours. I have time enough to write everything down, but not enough to dawdle. Purpose is key, here.

 

So I suppose the best place to start would be from the time when the Signless was apprehended - to my knowledge, for the very first time - and taken to my ship in chains. Writing of my clever plot to capture him would waste what precious hours I have, but it was quite fetching in its simplicity, and obviously successful. Had I not caught the small bastard, after all, I would not be bound for the gallows, and he would have a more forgiving window in which to amass a larger following.

 

He was immediately put to the hold, of course, for safe keeping until delivery. Though his preaching was considered little more than an obnoxious distraction, he was still valued enough as a nuisance that the Condesce had posted a modest sum for his capture. At the time, for reasons even I will never comprehend, her preference was that he be brought in alive. And so I found myself in a situation quite unlike the usual fare of what I was accustomed to. Typically, a troll such as the Signless who found himself in my care would be dead before dawn. But I always gave them a chance to prove their worth, as is the tradition: my crew often fancied taking the warmbloods (especially the rusts and the bronzes) as exotic little pets. Generosity would suggest if the prisoner can entertain me well enough, they are perfectly fit to satisfy one of my crew. But even these poor lucky souls would only last half a perigee, at most, before they too were cast to the waves.

 

I had no way of knowing that night would spark such a surreal chain of events. I don’t believe anyone could have predicted the way things turned out; certainly not if they knew me by my reputation. There is no taking it back now, of course. Whether I liked it or not - premonitions or no - from the moment I pulled him aboard my ship, my Signless worked to change me. Even when it meant enduring the suffering of his first two weeks on  _ my  _ command.


	2. Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW: implied/referenced slavery and slave trade ; implied/referenced physical assault ; graphic physical assault/torture ; blood and bruises ; frequent use of lowblood-specific slurs**  
> 
> Additional: Clicking on the asterisks in brackets [*] should page-jump you to the end notes for an explanation. Otherwise, you can wait until you've finished reading if that doesn't work for you. Also, hover over Signless's warmtongue text with your mouse and you should be able to see a translation.

#### Date: ??? Bilunar Perigee, ??? Dark Season

 

“Captain, sir. About that new prize in the brig. The one with a head sum posted by Her Condescension?”

 

Dualscar barely looked up from the decadent meal set before him. It was all soft cooked meats and a delicate beastblood wine: strained to perfection, bottled, then sold at some port town or another where they last made landfall. His crewmate - not his First Mate, who was presently unavailable, but someone still trustworthy - stood in front of the table, eagerly awaiting his answer. He gnawed through a chunk of krakenbeast with needle-pointed teeth and gave an irritable grunt; it was answer enough.

 

“Well, it just seems from all of us boys watchin’ down there that he’s gettin’ a bit mouthy.”

 

Not even a few hours onboard and he was already causing trouble. That had to be a new record - and what exactly was the signless whelp doing to make his men interrupt him in the middle of dinner? Dualscar glanced up, his expression meaningful. Only his left eye had total function, but his glare was piercing all the same. The blueblood in front of him shivered.

 

*“Whassa matter?” He drawled, wavetongue[*] accent bubbling off between his lips. “Can’t my boys handle a little whining rustie now and again?”

 

Dualscar’s crewmate grimaced. It was not a good sign. The Captain already anticipated opposition. “Well, see.” The bluebood explained slowly, “Thing of it is...him gettin’ mouthy includes a whole manner of things unpleasant, ‘specially from some dumb little lowblood. Believe me when I tell ya, Captain, we’ve tried everything.” He flipped his hands up in innocence, especially when Dualscar’s stern expression hardened. “We ain’t killed ‘im! He’s still breathin’, unfortunately. But uhhh. We’re sorta running outta ideas here, and he’s made it pretty clear he ain’t settlin’ down until he’s seen. Uh.” Here the blueblood paused, hesitant, already predicting the Captain’s response. “You.”

 

A bark of laughter spilled between bites of meat. Dualscar washed it down with a fair helping of the wine, struggling to hold back his chortles of amusement. “Well you already know the answer to that, mate. I’m not seein’ no prisoners ‘less I see fit to do so. He thinks he can demand me for my time, skip him a few suppers, let ‘im rot for longer down there.”

 

“See, we told him that.” Said the crew member, hands still up.

 

Dualscar arched an eyebrow. The mirth fell out of him quicker than a squawkbeast shot out of the sky. “Well, then what’s you interruptin’ my dinner for?” He demanded, patience wearing thin.

 

“Because, uhhh.” The blueblood stopped again. He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out a handkerchief, delicately dabbing away spots of sweat before he continued. “He’s, uh. He’s got Corelo under a knife with his arms through the bars.”

 

Corelo was his First Mate. Dualscar felt a mild twist of interest. “That’s a mite more than _mouthy._ ” He panned, drumming his claws on the table. “Haven’t you lot thought to call ‘im on his bluff? Thought this signless rustie was the one what makes a fuss about non-violence in his preachin’.”

 

“We was thinkin’ so too, Captain.” Said the crewmate. He coughed awkwardly. “Trust me, we was thinkin’ that very thing while we was havin’ our hoots beatin’ on him in the cell. ‘Cept it would seem he, uhh, hauled up and. Chewed off a few of Yauker’s fingers. When he got too close to the face.”

 

Dualscar stared back at the blueblood, his expression flat. It didn’t show, but the silence said he couldn’t believe what absolute nonsense he was hearing. “Fingers.”

 

“Yessir! Bit clean through. Hopped right on the poor bastard and stuck them in his mouth still bleeding.”

 

Dualscar released a long, laboring sigh. He looked down at his meal with some annoyance in his eyes, sensing that the meal was going to grow cold now as he debated this whole kerfuffle. This was just going to put a sour turn on the entire rest of his day. “Thought I took on a crew more competent than this,” he muttered. “Was this before or after the bit with Corelo?”

 

“Before, sir. Just hours before.”

 

“And was he cryin’ for me then, too, or is this all a new development?”

 

The blueblood hesitated, then admitted: “Been askin’ after ya since we put him to hold, sir. Demandin’, more like. It’s half the reason why we tried to smack ‘im around a little. ‘Cause you know, usually that _works_ with these little cretins!”

 

“And you’ve tried everything.” Dualscar checked.

 

The blueblood made an anxious noise, which he bit back when the Captain gave him a look for it. “Everything short of killing him outright, Captain. I know how this sounds -”

 

“Oh? How does it sound?” He asked, folding his fingers together in front of his chin. “Does it sound like a bunch of useless, wailing crewmates bothering their Captain? Come to grub-sit them while he’s in the middle of supper?”

 

No type of comment, smart or otherwise, reached Dualscar’s ears after that statement. They both already knew the answer. The blueblood reached for his handkerchief again and pursed his lips thin in frustration. “Great Orphaner, sir -” (Ah, he was kissing up a bit now, he was getting desperate.) “- We deeply regret the need to pester you like this at such an hour. We know damn well better than to do so under any other circumstance, but...this _fuckin’_ rustie, sir -”

 

“You tried yet turnin’ your fists on some of those other lowbloods cooped up in the hold?”

 

The crewmate stopped, and blinked back at Dualscar in awe. He took that as a “no.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

Dualscar rolled his eyes. “You stupid - know your targets, that’s the first rule of huntin’. This _signless thing_ spends half his time yammerin’ on about the union of the hemospectrum or some nonsense, what I hear. All his baying followers are of the lower colors. He’s putting on a fit like a grub about to get culled, that’s all. Pick your fancy of a bronze or some such, hit ‘em ‘til they holler, then keep going.”

 

When the blueblood didn’t have a reaction to that, Dualscar spoke slowly, as if explaining to a small adolescent. “He cares over-much about other lowblood breeds. Acts himself the tough type, but he’s soft inside. Target our other wares and you’ll crack the shell easy enough. That’ll teach ‘im to behave.”

 

“But Captain, what if he kills Corelo in the proc -”

 

Tone getting sharp, he growled: “If he cuts the lad’s throat open, then you beat a mustard ‘til they’re good and crunched, then toss them overboard. Maybe kill a couple _more_ just to get the hint across. Are you seeing a pattern, here?”

 

“We was gonna sell all those on the market at next port for a pretty coin though, weren’t we?”

 

“ _Idiot!_ ” Dualscar smacked down his fist, making the blueblood jump in place. “What was the sum posted on that little brat’s head? D’you remember?” When his crewmate did nothing but babble incoherently in fear, he said: “It was the pettiest fuckin’ head prize from the Condesce herself I’ve ever seen, and it was _still_ worth more than those bodies in the brig! Moreover, we may get a bonus if we keep him in good form - so that signless whelp is now the most valuable cargo on this ship! Hell, we could lose _all_ the other lowbloods down there and we would _still_ turn a profit!”

 

He pointed a finger at his shivering crewmate, teeth bared in a snarl. “So you get your sweaty ass back down there, you tell the men what I said, and you beat ‘em ‘til they groan!”

 

The blueblood didn’t even wait for him to finish. He whimpered a _yes sir, so sorry, sir,_ turned on his heels and fled for the door. Dualscar shouted after him a little addendum. “And tell that _fuck_ Corelo, if he happens to live, that next time he’s fool enough to get himself caught by a goddamn _red-eye,_ he’s welcome to wither in the arms of the void!!”

 

When the crewmate had gone, Dualscar growled and hissed again before jamming his fork into another krakenbeast tentacle. There - was that _really_ so hard? They didn’t even need him to step in to begin with! (He discovered soon after that his food had gone a bit chilly, to his dismay, but look on the bright side: at least he never had to leave the damn table.)

 

* * *

  

The next time the subject of their cargo was brought up, Dualscar was making his rounds across the ship while the crew was cleaning and checking the sails. Corelo was alive, it turned out - which would normally be a good thing, were he not unfortunate enough to scuffle with the signless troll below deck. That earned him nothing but silence and judgmental scorn from his Captain, and the seadweller pirate wilted when he discovered this, trying to apologize to Dualscar for the inconvenience. Dualscar didn’t even turn to acknowledge him. Instead, he flagged down the first other random crew member that passed by and got the story from him.

 

“You, there.”

 

He ended up catching a young teal. Several steps lower than Corelo in station as far as color - just enough to be insulting. The tealblood stopped in his tracks, head perked up. “Yessir?”

 

“How fares the trouble that was brewing in the brig?”

 

The teal looked at his Captain, then at Corelo, and in the end, reported with a smug grin: “Yeah, he gentled down soon as we started on some of the mustards and bronzes. Picked two or three of ‘em and went on ‘til they bled. He ain’t made a fuss since.”

 

Dualscar smiled - a mean, cold, satisfied smirk - and Corelo sensed he was now squarely on the Captain’s shit list. It would take several sweeps or a very good favor for him to crawl out of that status, too. He did not favor anyone who could be considered weak; as far as anyone should be concerned, their crew was of the superior breed, and the lowbloods were their chattel. _Masters do not bow to the will of their property;_ that was how he told it. There was no room for error on the Angel’s Light. It was top performance round the clock, or no performance at all.

 

“Good. That’s the way you do it, lads.” He said (still talking to the teal), “I’ll be down to see ‘im later when I’ve time to spare. Don’t tell it like that, though. Best we keep him guessing. Can’t have him thinkin’ staging his little mutiny will be met with any sorta reward.”

 

“Yessir, Captain.”

 

“Are the other selling points still livin’?”

 

“Hangin’ on still. We’ve a resilient lot this time.”

 

Dualscar mumbled in disinterest and waved his hand. “Have the lowbreed doctor down there patch up the worst of their wounds, keep ‘em from dying. Let the red-eyed heathen see what consequences his actions wrought so’s he thinks twice before he tries that again in the future.” He shrugged, adding: “They’ll still sell with the markings. Nobody cares about a few scratches. Hell, a few bidders probably even like ‘em that way.”

 

The tealblood nodded his acknowledgment, then hurried away. A tense silence passed, and Corelo remained at his Captain’s side, despite the implied dishonor sliced plain as day into his throat, nicking one of his gills. Right where the signless cargo had him under his own knife.

 

But then Dualscar asked the most upsetting question the seadwelling pirate had heard all day: “Corelo, who’s next in line below your station?”

 

Corelo balked. He flapped his gums like a fish out of water, then stammered: “No one, sir.”

 

Dualscar turned a sharp eye on him. “None at all? That doesn’t sound like me, now, does it?”

 

Corelo hesitated long, the sound of crashing waves against the ship filling the silence before he admitted otherwise. “That would be Reynah, sir.”

 

“ _Reynah!_ ” Dualscar exclaimed, recalling the name with uncharacteristic fondness. Perhaps due to the fact that he barely knew who Reynah was until it came time now to punt Corelo out of his current station. “The pretty little indigo we picked up a few sweeps back, yes? Go and inform her she’s been promoted.”

 

The seadweller ducked his head, fins drooping. “I will do that, Captain,” Corelo sighed. (So much for getting off that shit list.) After a pause, he asked, tentative: “What about me in the meanwhile?”

 

His Captain glared at him. “What do you mean, in the meanwhile?” When Corelo stared back at him in despair, Dualscar rolled his eyes. Such drama. “Just make yourself useful and I won’t finish what the rustie started. How’s that?”

 

“But _how_ -”

 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care! Whatever Reynah assigns you to do. You can at least give up your station without getting yourself used as a petty bargaining chip, can’t you?”

 

Corelo made a noise like a dying aquatic lusus, but Dualscar didn't let up - he just glared and glared until Corelo shrank. “I can do that sir.” He mumbled, defeated. He slipped off with his proverbial tail between his legs, and Dualscar nodded in approval to the sea, arms folded behind him. A shame to demote the man, but he couldn't go soft out of favoritism. Everyone knew the rule: you fuck up, you get punished. Simple enough to recall. It was Corelo’s fault for getting caught off guard, way he saw it.

 

Though he was now _so curious_ to see this signless bastard who had chewed off Yauker’s fingers and threatened Corelo. Dualscar assumed he would be another biteless little rustie grub, given the make of his preaching, but it seemed this was not entirely true. It was one of the nicest surprises he’d seen all week; Dualscar always liked it when there was a little fight in the warm-bodied ones before they were sold off at port. It was _boring_ when they all just rolled over as soon as they saw who was running the ship. They’d been getting a lot of that lately; it was about time for a change of pace.

 

* * *

  

It was the darkest point in the evening by the time Dualscar decided he may as well see what all the fuss was about. All the other crew members had cleared from the brig, save for guarding the only way in or out. He only had to wave his hand, and they let him in.

 

Below deck, especially for the hold - where there were hardly any portholes and no skylights to let the moons shine through - it was always dark and exceedingly dry. With the aid of only a few lanterns hanging from the ceiling, there was just enough light to put one foot in front of the other without tripping. Dualscar had to dip himself low to pass through the doorway even with the additional height accounted for. He would never admit it, but he was getting on in his sweeps, and he had never been a small troll. According to how the man himself told it, the only difference between Dualscar now and Dualscar as a whelp was a slight leap in height and a bit of horn growth.

 

A pensive silence crushed the cell block when he entered. Lowbloods of every color scrambled for the far corners of their cages like frightened animals, flinching at the sound of each footfall. It was as though they could sense the approach of their executioner. Dualscar couldn’t help a tiny smile on his features as he observed. Even though he longed for a challenge most days, it still made him square his shoulders with pride - they _should_ be fearful! Anything less was utterly foolish, if not despicable, after all. He held their very _lives_ in his hands. A flick of his fingers and he could have their throats slit, their bodies dumped overboard. Or he could fancy one of them a gift to his crew - _any_ of his crew. And then _they_ could do what they wanted.

 

As he strolled leisurely down the way, cape swaying with each commanding step, Dualscar turned his eye on the status of their cargo. He immediately found the three warm brats that his men played target practice with: they were huddled with the mustard one that served as a doctor in his cage, all pretty and bruised. One of them was still shaking, making soft hiccuping sobs until their makeshift caretaker nudged them. He spotted Dualscar and hissed for the poor soul to hush up. They made eye contact; Dualscar didn't do much. Just stared. This was one of the only ones left who still had some snip left in him. The doctor glared back, unnaturally forked tongue flitting between his lips as he snarled. Dualscar nodded to him, and that was the extent of their acknowledgement - he held no interest in their miscellaneous cargo for the moment. Who he _wanted_ to see was a couple more cells down.

 

* He found the troll of the hour, surprisingly, with his arm through the bars in the darkness. So, apart from the tales he heard of what went on some hours earlier, the first impression Dualscar had of the signless cargo was of his sky-gray hand clasped with the hand of the troll in the cell beside his. That was one of the rarer olive catches, if Dualscar recalled right, but...he didn’t exactly care to check his sources on that. He did, however, care about the soft whispers flitting back and forth between the two captives - not any manner of commonspeak [*] that he knew of. Much worse than that. The treasonous nonsense that only the lowbloods seemed to know.

 

[Zku qsft hd frw iezb.] The signless one was hushed, squeezing the olive’s hand gently, their fingers interlaced. Seemed he was trying to do some comforting. [Ia hgy uzgwl jbtq pqfrklg wihd. Tev'zi prv.]

 

*“ _Hey._ ” Dualscar all but barked to announce his presence, which startled the poor olive so much that they slammed their elbow on the bars by accident, yanking their hand away from the signless one’s. He didn’t see heads or tails of the little maggot after that - fled to the shadows of their cage, most likely. “Best you be scrapin’ that rustmouth [*] nonsense off your tongue, or I might see fit to cut it out of ya.”

 

The signless was slower to retreat. By the time Dualscar was standing in front of his cell, he hadn’t done much other than pulling his arm back slightly, leaving his forearm to drape through the grid. The Captain had enough low-light vision on his side that he didn’t need to squint in order to make out the other’s features - which wasn’t speaking to very much. Darker gray skin tone (where he wasn’t bruised all to hell); the color of a stormy sky at sea. Pleasantly muscular, from what Dualscar could see beneath that awful burlap sack of a cloak, if a bit wiry. Strangely wide hips, for some reason? Soft, void-black hair that was the mark of a troll still only midway through young adulthood, at best. Disappointingly blunt claws, squared off at their ends. The _smallest_ set of horns he’d ever seen. Were those even real? Was this lowbreed actually _younger_ than Dualscar was led to believe or were they just that miniscule? And his _eyes_...they were _very_ bright, even in the low light of the cages. Bright, bold, _vivid_ red, which was confusing. And new. And _weird._ In Dualscar’s mind, it did him no favors, considering the rest of him just seemed so positively _hideous._ What a terribly unimpressive troll.

 

 _This_ was the plucky bastard who had caused so much trouble only hours before?

 

He caught that the signless one was sizing him up, too. There was a lot more of it to do on his end: the rustie only reached up to below Dualscar’s chest, at best. Pretty tall for a redbreed, but not nearly enough to match him. He also didn’t say anything: just leered at him, a tight scowl pressed into his features, mouth a uniform line within the faint, peppery scruff the little fucker passed off for facial hair.

 

Dualscar sneered, violet eyes looking him over one more time. “And here I thought with the fuss my boys were making, you was gonna be some kinda mutated, over-strong freak. But you ain’t much of nothin’ at all.”

 

“I was enough of something to get the better of your second in command.”

 

Ah - so he _did_ talk. A rather smooth tone for his commonspeak, and surprisingly well-spoken; Dualscar’s earfins flicked with interest. He smirked. “Corelo? He ain’t trusty enough to serve that post. You got yourself the wrong troll.”

 

“No, I didn’t.” Said the signless one. He smiled like he knew something Dualscar didn’t. “I definitely had the right troll, given the way they all defaulted to him in your absence. But I suppose you can’t have a man under your wing who got bested by a warmblood like me. Could you _imagine_ the scandal?”

 

The smile went out of Dualscar’s features _very_ quick at that. “I think you need to watch your tone, else I might see fit to have a few more of your fellas get smacked around some more.”

 

Now the signless troll’s scowl fixed to match his own. “You have no quarter with them, Captain. They already suffer enough.”

 

“Ah, but see.” Dualscar wagged his finger at his captive. “That title you just used. _Captain._ Means I run this whole operation. And what are you? Just another lowbreed snot takin’ up space in my brig. A _fancy_ little snot, with that price on your head. But in the end, still only worth about as much as the coin I get paid for turnin’ you in.”

 

“Surely these other souls are also worth some payment to you,” said the other. “Why turn your wrath on them for something _I_ did? Is there no accounting for the health of these others forced into your care?”

 

“No. And I don’t figure in the babbling of a mark when I think of how to handle my cargo.”

 

The signless scoffed. “So in addition to taking them from their homes and selling them as property, you treat them like things to be broken for your amusement.” He growled, “Somehow I am not surprised.”

 

But it was strange. He didn’t sound _angry;_ not chiefly so. He was upset, of course. Dualscar could see that in his body language, smell it on him through the bars. But his tone was...oddly gentle. _Disappointed._ It was the disappointment that got him; it scratched at his chest, made his features twist into a hard-lined snarl. Dualscar was used to seeing a lot of things in his captives: anger, terror, bewilderment, respect - all of these were things he knew how to handle. He could counter each of these emotions accordingly. But he had _never_ seen a lowblood so _fearless,_ so _let down_ by his presence. It was cutting in a way he did not expect: a shocking, unexpected insult that hit far too close to his pride. He wanted nothing more than to snuff that ugly tone right out of the dirty red-eye’s throat.

 

“Careful, redbreed.” Dualscar snapped, “Remember, the shit that comes outta that mouth of yours has weight down here.”

 

At his second reminder, the signless sneered at him. “Have you no capacity to consider your treatment of others?”

 

“I’m a sea-lovin’ troll. Those of you that are down here are not. You and your lot ain’t nearly cold enough to go toe-to-toe with me on my own turf.”

 

“You’re a monster.”

 

Dualscar responded to that with a smug grin. “Darlin’, we’re ocean-bound. I’ve _seen_ the monsters that occupy the waves. Trust me when I say you’ll come to prefer the treatment I offer.”

 

The signless one snipped, “I’m thinking I would prefer none of your treatment at all.”

 

“Ain’t your decision to make, my dear.”

 

The troll cast an angry glare his way. “If you are going to call me anything, call me Signless.”

 

Smarmy, smart-mouthed little fuck! Who was he to make such demands on his own damn ship? Dualscar lunged at the cage, rattling the bars as he clamped his fingers down between them. He roared. “You listen, you little shit! You don’t control me, and it’s best you remember that! I’ll call you _what_ I want, _when_ I want, you got that?!”

 

His captive reflexed only in the way one does when getting ready for a fight. His muscles tensed for a split second before he relaxed his posture, and he looked up, meeting Dualscar’s gaze with those horrible bright-red eyes. He didn’t flinch; didn’t back away. He still had his arm out between the bars and Dualscar was close enough that the violet of his armor brushed the skin on the other’s forearm, and he didn’t even tremble. Did he have a death wish, or was he just too stupid to understand the gravity of his own situation? And then the unthinkable followed.

 

Signless smiled at him, and the look on his face was inexplicably _triumphant._

 

“What’s you lookin’ like that for?” Dualscar snarled. “Wipe that dirty grin off your face!”

 

“What’s the matter?” Asked the smaller troll. “Can’t you handle it when a _redbreed_ defies your commands, Captain?”

 

Dualscar felt a fury bubbling beneath his skin. His fingers flexed against the bars. “If you don’t quit with that sneerin’, I swear I’ll come in and I’ll tear it off your fuckin’ face,” he threatened.

 

Signless braced himself against the front of the cage, pressing his face to the wooden grate. Even with the injuries from earlier, he met Dualscar with an infuriating sort of pride, acting like he still stood at full strength when he surely wasn’t. “Do it.” He challenged, “See what happens. Maybe I’ll bite off _your_ fingers next.”

 

“You’re only alive right now because I don’t get paid if the Condesce doesn’t see your hideous mug still breathin’,” Dualscar snarled. “You shouldn’t be talkin’ so big. She only said to keep the air in your lungs. Didn’t say nothin’ about turning you in ship-shape.”

 

“So?” Signless said. “What are you going to do about it? Beat me? Beat the others here?”

 

“I'm thinkin’ that's a damn fine start,” the Captain hissed. Which was when Dualscar had an idea. He was sure Signless could see it crossing his mind, too. There was a flash of hesitation, but only a moment’s worth.

 

“In fact.”

 

Dualscar reached down and yanked off the padlock on the front of Signless’s cage. It was a pure show of raw strength - an intimidation tactic. A time-honored one, too, really. Replacing it was Reynah’s problem, though, not his. The padlock snapped with a loud clatter as he threw it to the floor.

 

Signless pulled back with his fists up as Dualscar flung the cell door open and strolled inside. The scuffle that followed was a short one: Signless immediately went to punch, but Dualscar caught and deflected both of his attempts. And his violet-blooded opponent was far too large, and the cage far too small, for Signless to gain any sort of leverage in a strife. He snarled and hissed, baring surprisingly pointed teeth (Dualscar half expected them to be filed down), making it clear he wouldn’t go down without a struggle. His efforts at a third lunge ended with him being flung back to the far wall from nary but a single swing of the Captain’s arm, the hood of his cloak falling free. From there, all Dualscar had to do was reach out with one hand, twisting up his fingers in that soft black hair and closing his fist tight.

 

He physically dragged the young redblood out of his block by his scalp in full view of the other captives, who all either looked away from the spectacle, covered their ears, or both. Signless yelled, hollered, kicked, and made all manner of struggling. He dug his claws into Dualscar’s hand and the crook of his elbow - anywhere that his armored bracer didn’t cover - scratching tough gray skin as hard as he could. Dualscar was a little amazed when he felt the burn of open wounds; with such sad-looking nails, he didn’t figure Signless would even be able to draw blood. He supposed the threat of something terrible could make even the most de-fanged trolls fight back something fierce.

 

Paying no mind to the cries of his prisoner, Dualscar flung open the door and continued pulling him along. He hauled Signless out of the brig, up the stairs, straight to the middle of the deck. Forming his mouth properly for the action, Dualscar then whistled loud and sharp to get the attention of his crew.

 

“All hands gather round!” He cried, bringing Signless around in front. He still held him up by his hair until the lowblood was forced to stand upright on the very points of his toes, clawing for his freedom, and failing to obtain it. “It has come to your Captain’s attention that we’ve got ourselves one hell of a live one from the hold!”

 

The moment they heard their Captain’s call, all hands on deck turned and began to converge on the center. Heads that were unaccounted for up top emerged from their bunks, and lookouts posted in the crow’s nest began their scale down the ratlines. They all whooped and whistled back, their answers coming in short jeers and long booing calls.

 

“Now, I want you all to remember: this filthy, red-bred _barkbeast_ is worth enough coin to put us all to shore for a nice little vacation of a good several days!” Over the joyous exclamations of his crew, Dualscar continued, “But unfortunately, Her Imperious Condescension did so post that whosoever captures this pissant and brings him in shall present him with his head still clean on his shoulders! Lungs still drawin’ their landbreed air!”

 

More appropriate boos and groans. Some chuckles bubbled up from among the other violets onboard. Dualscar couldn’t see Signless’s face, but the way his hands had stilled and he clutched for purchase on his captor’s fingers instead of prying at them made Dualscar’s mouth split into a proud grin. He could smell _fear,_ and it was so, so satisfying.

 

“ _Fortunately,_ ” he concluded, “We have plenty of days still before we will be close enough to the Condescension’s palace to turn him over! And never once in the posting did She state we had to bring him back in _perfect_ condition.”

 

His crew began to get ramped up. They all knew what was coming - so did Signless. Some of the blues and teals started grabbing their daggers; others cracked their knuckles and their necks. Mouths full of sharp teeth and cold tongues and claws like razors all flashed to the ready. Dualscar picked up on the sound of Signless gasping. He regarded his entire crew with a fiery glow about him, sneering joyfully. “What say you, boys? Shall you have yourselves a little party with this wicked sack of chum?”

 

Raucous, widespread screams to the affirmative. Signless held Dualscar’s blood-slicked hand in his hair until his knuckles bleached to pale. It was comforting for him to know that Signless wasn’t _so_ stupid that he didn’t understand a bloodbath when his instincts sensed one.

 

Dualscar pulled Signless in close and bent down, tipping the other’s head back. Little rivulets of violet streaked his face and matted into his hair from all the clawing. Dualscar didn’t mind; it was a good look on him, aesthetically. It was refreshing. A futile struggle, but a brilliant show of resistance. “Last chance, little rustie. Care to recant on your attitude problem, or shall I let the boys have at you?” He leaned in, mouth so close that he could sense the _radiant_ heat roiling off Signless’s whole body like a wave. “Don’t worry. At least they won’t kill you. Might wound you a little, but you ain’t no good to us dead.”

 

Signless was breathing hard. Dualscar could hear it when he was this close: short, puffy huffs of breath. His pusher had to be working twice as hard from the adrenaline rush. His pupils had dilated wide, and he glared at Dualscar sidelong, swallowing down a heady lump of anxiety. It was such a beautiful paradox. He could see Signless waging war inside his own head: on the one hand, staunch defiance and a pride powerful enough to match his own. On the other: raw, unfiltered terror of what was to come. Dualscar waited patiently for his answer while his crew all screamed, demanding their time, needling Signless with names and profanities, though none of them made a move physically. Their Captain hadn’t allowed it. Yet.

 

The response he received was not only expected, but far beyond what he hoped for.

 

Signless, snarling, breath coming mostly through his nostrils, snipped at him in that old rustmouth tongue he’d used in the hold. Dualscar, going by tone and nothing else, chuckled darkly. “Suit yourself, my dear.”

 

Then, he shouted: “Strife party on the main deck, boys!”

 

He threw Signless forward into the circle. It was like watching a flock of hungry squawkbeasts all scrambling for a piece of the same slab of meat. The redbreed whirled about and looked at Dualscar with eyes wide, fear gone right out of him. Now all he saw was _anger._ But only for a half-second; in the next instant, his crew had so glommed together into a single furious mass of flesh and claws and teeth and pointy ends of things that Dualscar lost track of Signless before he could even bother to start. The first _thump_ of a fist against bone rang out thereafter, followed by cries of _hit ‘im again!_ And _make the dirty lowdog bleed!_

 

Satisfied, Dualscar checked the still-bleeding scratches on his one hand, and turned his back to the circle, intent on retreating. He didn’t take but five or six steps before a strange interruption occurred, however: shocked gasps of awe, followed by silence. He stopped walking, but didn’t turn around.

 

“Holy fuck,” said one crewmate.

 

“ _Shit,_ what color even _is_ that?!”

 

“God! I knew he was an ugly one when we brought him on, but this just ain’t right!”

 

“ _Captain!_ We’ve caught ourselves a freak of nature!”

 

Dualscar rolled his eyes and went to face the circle again. And he fully intended, at first, to command that his crew _get the fuck on with it._ But three of them were presenting Signless to him, now struggling and punched to bleeding, and it was the rivers of loud, vibrant red running down from his nose and his lip that got his attention.

 

Huh.

 

Dualscar regarded Signless with fresh eyes, now that he had that interesting little tidbit. Then he catalogued the thought, looked at his crew, and shrugged. Freak of nature or no, he still had to learn his lesson. “Well?” He demanded, “What are you lot starin’ at me for? Whaddya need, a fuckin’ invitation?”

 

“You sure we won’t get in no trouble for wailing on ‘im, sir?” Asked one of the many men in the mob. “Think this was the reason the Condesce wanted ‘im alive?”

 

“How the fuck should I know!” Dualscar growled, “I don’t got time to percolate on the why’s of Her reasoning! You lot wanna make such a fuss over him, then just keep tossin’ him around, make sure that’s _really_ what his color is. Just don’t do nothin’ permanent and sure as shit don't fucking kill ‘im. If he dies, all’s we got is a goddamn fancy abominable ornament, ‘stead of a fancy abominable payday!”

 

Smile after smile spread across the faces of his crew. Dualscar could feel a heat on his back as he walked away while Signless howled something at him raw and hot that almost sounded like a curse. It was quickly cut off by his crew resuming their gang-wide assault. The sounds of the scuffle drew further and further away as he walked the deck back to his quarters; they faded out altogether after he casually closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WAVETONGUE:** Seadweller’s language, reserved only for violets and the Condesce. Very rarely spoken outside of noble circles, but a requirement for all Alternians to learn, as the Condesce refuses to speak in Common or Warmtongue. Paradoxically, warm-bloods speaking in wavetongue is considered an extreme offense, so they are only required to learn enough to read and comprehend. In warm-blooded circles the slang term for it is ROYALSPEAK. [JUMP BACK]
> 
> —
> 
>  **ALTERNIAN COMMON:** The standard of communication bridging the gap between all colors on the hemospectrum. Several variations in dialect exist, but are not often used, as dialectic speakers are commonly culled whenever the drones roll around. Exceptions are made to a degree for those in the cooler colors. Alternian trolls who speak a sub-dialect of common tend to keep its usage restricted to inside the hive or, very rarely, in letter format (later, over Trollian). Also simply known as COMMON or COMMONSPEAK. [JUMP BACK]
> 
> —
> 
>  **WARMTONGUE:** A language which seems to have exclusively developed among trolls approximately olive-blooded or lower. The most common speakers are rust, bronze, and yellow. Its usage is also considered a factor in culling, and improper enough to warrant public reprimand, especially when spoken to a highblood. Some inexplicable knowledge and use of warmtongue also transfers into some of the mid-color hues, but no known users higher than teal are currently recorded. The common slang for warmtongue is LOWSPEAK or RUSTMOUTH. [JUMP BACK]
> 
> -
> 
> End Note: the oliveblood in the cell next to Signless's is not the Disciple. Sorry!


	3. Guts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A boon! I managed to finish early! Here is the next chapter for your consumption.
> 
> -
> 
>  
> 
> **CW: sexual harassment ; torture ; aftermath of torture ; blood and bruises**

One of the more able-bodied trolls from the cages was forced to swab the deck some hours past the aftermath of the Captain-sanctioned attack on Signless. The poor olive was still scrubbing out the smears of candy-red blood by the time lunch hour arrived, and they were not permitted to have any meals until they were finished. Dualscar knew they hadn’t eaten yet that day, because he stood right by them at some point in the dim of the afternoon, and pointed to a faded smattering of ugly, bright red with the toe of his boot.

 

“Missed a spot, my dear.”

 

The olive looked down at the offending stain, then up at him. Dualscar looked them over with a favorable eye: short, wavy hair, a soft face, pretty green eyes. What he really liked most, though, was the way their horns grew: four in all from different points on their crown, encircling their head like a halo of sorts. Such a sweet creature. They stared at him with the most woeful, pathetic look he’d seen in a long while. He arched an eyebrow right back. “What’s you poutin’ at me for?” He said, “F’you don’t get on it now, it’s gonna set. Then you’ll have to spend your supper on your knees.”

 

It had _already_ begun to set, in all actuality, which the oliveblood seemed to know when they glared and let out a soft huff. Seeing as they were likely to become fish food if they retaliated, however, all they did was jam the mop back into the basin of cleaning water nearby and press it - still dripping - to the deck. Dualscar smiled as they worked in fervor to rub out what they could of Signless’s mutant color. A very smart and hungry thing; he had no doubts that finally earning a meal for the day was at the forefront of the young troll’s mind.

 

“Better.” He said - which was more praise than he normally gave to _any_ of the cargo below deck. He wasn’t sure how much the olive understood that, but hoped it was conveyed through the fact that he hadn’t yet culled them on the spot. In fact, Dualscar had a different idea altogether, if he could just convince the smaller olive to cooperate.

 

He straightened up his posture, arms folded behind his back, regarding the olive captive with a thoughtful expression. “When you’ve finished with that, find me in my quarters and I’ll serve you a nice, hot meal.”

 

Good enough incentive, he figured, and a way to keep the precious thing gentled. His theory was confirmed when the olive flicked their eyes up to him. He could see suspicion, which held, and he didn’t mind. It was the smart thing to think: he was the leader on this vessel, after all. If he saw fit to change his mind, he had the power to make their stay more miserable than it already was. But in the end, the olive’s stomach rumbled far too loud for them to refuse a gift when it was given. They spoke up with a soft, high-pitched voice, gripping the handle of the mop anxiously. “We aren’t allowed in your quarters though, are we, Captain?”

 

Dualscar softened his features. He bent down - he was so much taller than this young one - and reached out to cup his hand against their cheek. They flinched, but not terribly so. Still, once his hand was on them, they didn’t move. “I’ll alert the crew to make an exception.” He promised, “And the food will be exquisite. Wouldn’t you like to have something a bit different for a change?”

 

They didn’t respond. They seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. To sweeten the pot, Dualscar added, “I’ll even let you use my washroom. Would you like that?”

 

It still took quite a bit of mental debate, with the pause that followed, but that did the trick. The oliveblood still fixed Dualscar with a tense, wide-eyed look, but they gave in after much deliberation. They responded by nodding in such short movements, he almost missed it. He hoped they wouldn’t be so frightened of him after a bath and a meal; that would be such a disappointment, given what he had planned after.

 

“There’s a good love.” He pat them on the shoulder, adding, “Now finish cleaning this mess for your Captain.”

 

They started to cautiously scrub with the mop again, saying nothing in return. Dualscar could sense they were watching him as he left; more than likely with the same fearful expression as before. It was fine - that would all change with time. He was playing the long game, after all. He already had his kismesis taken care of; he posted the notification to Corelo’s door early that morning. Not Dualscar’s ideal choice, if he were being honest. But what was he supposed to do when the _real_ object of his pitch desires had fucked right off somewhere far into the ocean? He couldn’t place all his bets on the possibility of coming across her again before they had to turn up for their duties to the Empire at port. Hell, with the priority cargo stored in their hold, there was a possibility they may not even _be_ at port when the seasons changed.

 

* Dualscar scowled a bit at the idea. He didn’t have a great fondness for the breeding lands[*]; too many pheromones all mixing together in a pungent whirlwind of dutiful reproduction. But once the rumbling of the drone migration began, there was little anyone could do to stop it. As much as he didn’t like running his ship ashore on a strange island full of stranger trolls, he also didn’t fancy being slaughtered for his supposed inability to fill his own damn pails.

 

Speaking of priority cargo…

 

The hold was dark as it always was, and - same as ever - his captives all scurried back in terror when they noticed who exactly was walking the hall. Down here the blood wasn’t being cleaned up; it never was. In any other circumstance, this wouldn’t bother Dualscar, except the freshest blood currently dabbed across the wooden boards was such an offensive color that it bothered his eyes. He looked down at the spatters of mutant red, somehow never dulling in their shade even after leaving Signless’s body, and sneered. Before going any further, he doubled back to the door of the cargo hold.

 

“You.”

 

The guard was another teal, busy picking underneath his claws with a knife when Dualscar addressed him. He didn’t straighten up to attention; Dualscar made a note to fix that later. “Yes, Captain?”

 

“When I’m finished down here, make sure you get the mop and basin from that olive over there and scrub away all the blood in this hallway.”

 

The teal stared back at him with incredulity. “I ain’t no swabbie! Why can’t _they_ do it?”

 

“Because I got me some plans for that one,” he snapped, casting a sharp look to the other troll. “Are you questioning the orders of your Captain?”

 

The question was met by a snarl, plus the teal flicking some dirt out from under his claw, looking away. “Guessin’ not, _sir._ ”

 

“That’s what I like to hear.”

 

He closed the door again, despite the other troll’s incessant grumbling as he did so. He would get over it - that was his only option if he didn’t want to face punishment. Bucking back against the Captain was _very_ ill-advised aboard the Angel’s Light. Any crew member who still didn’t understand that shouldn’t have signed on for recruitment.

 

When Dualscar made it to the very back of the cages, he walked past the cell where they normally kept the doctor, seeing as he wasn’t there. Instead, he was in the same cell as Signless. He peered through the grate of the wooden bars (the padlock had been replaced, it seemed), and saw the yellowblood sitting cross-legged beside his priority catch, stitching shut what he needed to. There was a particular knife wound on Signless’s collarbone which was quite large, so that was the current focus of the doctor’s attention. The mustard’s long hair, gone shock-white for reasons he never divulged (Dualscar never asked, nor did he care), was pulled back into a tight ponytail at the back of his head, and he’d dipped his hands in salt water (on Dualscar’s orders). He wished he’d been around when the mustard was applying that to the open wounds. He wondered if there had been screams.

 

Signless looked up at him, glaring. He was in rough shape: a dark swelling had formed around one of his eyes, and his face, neck, and shoulders were all heavily battered. Hardly an inch of him, in fact, was without some form of injury. Loud strips of vibrant red screamed from his body where the crew had sliced him open. Dualscar was sure there were still more injuries beneath his clothes, but he didn’t care so long as the freak stayed in one piece. He would have to remind the men to make no more fresh wounds, though. Had to make sure he would be all healed up before he was turned in for the glory of Her Imperious Condescension.

 

“Now what?” Signless growled. Strange that he didn’t sound fatigued, even after getting the shit kicked out of him. He was remarkably resistant. “Come to rub more salt in the wounds? If so, the good doctor’s already taken care of that.”

 

Dualscar folded his arms behind his back. “Perhaps you’ll think twice now before you talk back to me,” he said.

 

“No - now I’ll just think twice before calling your first mate a cretinous, shit-licking fucksponge.” Signless corrected, rolling one shoulder with a soft groan. “Didn’t expect she would punch _that_ hard.”

 

The image of the mutant snapping back at Reynah before paying for the transgression was funnier than Dualscar wanted to admit aloud. His lips curled up into a soft smile before he forced it away again. “Ain’t you the one what’s supposed to be talkin’ about _love_ and _union_ and all that other idealistic crap?”

 

“So?” Signless shot back.

 

“ _So,_ what’s you doin’ with words like _cretinous shit-licking fucksponge_ sittin’ in your mouth?”

 

Signless stared at Dualscar with a flat expression as the doctor tied off his stitches and grabbed a washcloth that had been sitting in the salt water basin nearby. He applied it to the wound and Dualscar saw Signless flex his hand into a fist, but no grunts or screams of pain. Disappointing. “One of your men got his fingers bitten off when he tried to subdue me with violence,” he reminded. “Or did you forget about that already between this moment and the time when it happened?”

 

“You’re a mighty violent troll for supposedly preachin’ about -” Dualscar stopped. With no shortage of sarcasm, he peered at Signless through the bars and asked, “What was it again?”

 

Fearless, the mutant replied: “Complete dissolution of the caste system, dethronement of the Condescension and Grand Highblood, and the disbandment of his subjugglator following, just to start.”

 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Dualscar laughed, hearty and loud. The poor, deluded bastard. He may as well make talk about drawing down the moons. “You’re funnier than I thought, redbreed!”

 

Tone still the same, the other troll drawled, “My title is still Signless.” Dualscar shot him a look, but he continued all the same: “Not _redbreed,_ or _lowdog,_ or any other manner of _fucking_ discriminatory bullshit.”

 

Dualscar’s stern look turned into a glower. “Your pan cells must be makin’ some awful misfirin’, ‘cause I could’ve sworn we had this conversation before the strife party.”

 

“You mean the _party_ where you let your crew use me as their personal community pincushion?” Signless snipped. “You’re right. Because I am _so eager_ to cow my head to you after such generous treatment.”

 

The doctor squeezed Signless’s arm over one of his wounds and glared at him, speaking at a low hiss under his breath. [Nsyi xgkuxxd, afs crjbj wrcnf. Qtzl kuzx cjmwdpk gxamk fcnj xj ttr fton iscz'r yted flz fyf.]

 

Dualscar let that slide this time only because the doctor was acting smarter than Signless. He gestured to the white-haired troll, arching an eyebrow. “Whatever he just said, sounds like some good advice you’d best be takin’.”

 

“I’ve taken his advice into consideration,” Signless said, “and I’ve decided not to adhere to it. I’m not going to stop correcting you, or your crew. I deserve to have my basic personhood respected.”

 

Dualscar rolled his eyes when he heard that. _Basic personhood,_ what kind of nonsense was this? They were on a pirate ship - it wasn’t a fucking cruise. He almost wanted to drop Signless over the starboard side with his feet encased in weights, just to let the ocean lusii have their way with him. The only thing that stopped him was recalling the massive pay-off for turning him in.

 

“Also, it is a _very_ easy way to annoy you,” added Signless. He smiled as he said it, like the little lowbreed shit he was, which just made it _extra_ obnoxious.

 

Irritated (and angry that he was irritated), Dualscar growled back: “S’also a very easy way to get yourself in a deeper crock of shit than you’re already swimmin’ through, so if I was you, I’d watch my goddamn mouth.”

 

“You think roughing me up a little and calling me derogatory names is going to make me fall in line?” Signless asked, the doctor pressing a needle through his skin as he talked and starting on another cut. “Because whatever horrible torment you choose to put me through, the one thing I know for certain is that you can’t kill me.” Here, his eyes flashed to hot as he glared. There was something about the way Signless looked at him that Dualscar found mildly unnerving. “I’m sure I can get away with _quite a lot_ before you _actually_ consider getting rid of me, and I’m not afraid to find out how much.”

 

The fact that he was not getting one over on Signless in this entire theoretical discussion was becoming a concern. Of course he didn’t want to lose this freak of nature from the cargo - but challenging as he was, it wouldn’t do for him to be a royal pain in the ass for the entire trip. The crew would get rowdy about it inside of a couple of days, and they still had quite a journey ahead to the Condesce’s palace. It wasn’t so much this fight in particular that concerned Dualscar: it was the ones he predicted may happen in the future. When he hoped for a difficult piece of cargo, he never expected to get a troll like Signless. There was a certain fire in his eyes which he found familiar. It was the fire of someone who had a lot to hope for - someone who would do anything and everything to obtain what they desired.

 

“Would you _like_ it if I killed you?” Dualscar challenged. “‘Cause that’s the only thing I’m gettin’ outta all your yammerin’ on, is that you’ve got one hell of a death wish. And that’s where this is going if you keep actin’ the fool.”

 

“No, it’s not! We just established that!” Signless laughed, and Dualscar _hated_ it. “I’m not an idiot. If you lose me, you’ll lose your crew.”

 

“My men have been loyal to me for _several_ sweeps. One lost mark ain’t gonna make ‘em disembark the ship.”

 

“No, but it _could_ piss them off when they realize they aren’t getting a substantial pay for the season.”

 

Dualscar stopped talking, mouth pursing into a uniform line. Silence hung between them like a thick fog. The yellowblood doctor was only minding his business, but even he flicked his eyes between the two for a while, and nobody could miss the smug look on Signless’s face when it took too long for Dualscar to answer. Because they _both_ knew he was on to something.

 

Finally, however, Dualscar tried to deflect - and he was ashamed at the weakened clout of his own words. “You don’t know _shit.”_

 

“Why isn't your brig stuffed full of slaves then?” Signless asked. “There's always an inevitable increase in abductions of lowbloods before drone season. Pirates like to snatch them up to keep for pailing or selling them off for fast cash, before they all get culled or go into hiding.”

 

Dualscar clenched his fists behind his back. He said nothing, but his expression slowly grew colder and colder.

 

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s what you are?” Signless continued, “You’re the great Orphaner Dualscar -”

 

“Best you be speakin’ that title with some fucking respect if you don’t want me ripping out your tongue.” Dualscar warned, greatly disliking the other’s tone.

 

Signless just raised his voice, and increased his mockery threefold. “You are the _Great Orphaner Dualscar,_ the most terrifying pirate sailing the Alternian seas! A veritable tyrant in your own right! And you have virtually no wares to sell for coin!”

 

Now he only stood still with his fists tightening behind him, claws digging into his palms. Tight-lipped, he snipped, “That’s good. Keep goin’. Keep throwing your shit everywhere, freak-blood, see what happens.”

 

“I’m not sure how a pirate of your caliber managed to miss out on the greatest pay before the seasonal change.” Signless said, squinting at him, challenging Dualscar to answer. “How _precisely_ does one with such an otherwise glowing reputation come up so short? Did you just miss your opportunity altogether? Or - oh! Even better! Maybe someone finally managed to get the upper hand on you and they _stole_ all your slaves away!”

 

* * *

  

**I would like to take a moment here to clarify that Signless had no way of knowing about the earlier events of that season. Yet without prior knowledge, he managed to hit far closer to home than I held a preference for at the time.**

 

**It is also important to understand that propaganda to discredit his movement was rather widespread; mostly implemented by lower colors who worked for the crown rather than the Condesce herself. Still, as I have mentioned before, his work was heralded as witless banter. Snips in the news postings and rumors spread throughout the Empire told of his absurd gatherings. They portrayed his followers as a pack of drooling idiots - with Signless as the angry, mindless animal trying to lead them. A fool to lead the fools, as they say. Though as I recall these things now, I feel perhaps those in the middle castes must have sensed something brewing long before the Condesce ever even turned her head. Why else would they work so hard to discredit the things that he did? Why resist the existence of a harmless thing if it was, in fact, harmless?**

 

**Even as I thought nothing of these things that night, I learned well enough by Signless’s words that he was not the raving bundle of brainless rage the colder colors made him out to be. He was also not the standard cowering capturee I had grown accustomed to stuffing into my hold. A little posturing and some throwing him to the crew wasn’t enough to frighten him - nor, really, would** **_anything_ ** **I tried to punish him with be construed as frightening. He was a fearless little fucker, if nothing else. He was also remarkably observant. Any other slave I tossed into the brig wouldn’t even notice the fact that most of the cells were empty, the occupied ones containing only one to two bodies per. They would be too scared of me - of my** **_glowing reputation_ ** **\- to think about anything else.**

 

**Not my Signless. Whatever he always did down there in that cage, every moment not spent hating me, and everything I held up, must have been allocated towards cataloging every single happening aboard my ship. I was all the more mistaken to assume his suppositions were serendipity. I didn’t want to believe that a troll of his color could so gain the upper hand; the very idea was preposterous to me. And yet, every time he opened his mouth, my pusher knew what my pan refused to consider, and he made my blood run hot with my own childish fury. I think that may be the entire reason why I let him run his mouth after he rightly accused me of losing more than half my slaves to another sea-dwelling dog: I needed to hear an excuse so I could find reason to up the ante. I had hoped that this would be enough to make him stop.**

 

**As I would discover later, clearly I was wrong in** **_that_ ** **assumption, as well.**

 

* * *

  

Dualscar basked in the soft breeze of the crisp ocean air from the deck as the night grew darker. He smiled, feeling pounds lighter than he had before, knowing that his worries were taken care of as a pair of crewmen descended into the brig with a special gift for the bothersome mutant that would pay for their meals for the next half a sweep or more. He waited patiently for the results; he only instructed them to bring the filthy redbreed above to him, armed with a length of rope and a sack of chum sloughed off their latest pull from the nets.

 

His patience was rewarded when Dualscar heard the door swing open. Ignoring the frantic screeching noises of the doctor from below, the two mates he sent down hauled Signless up from the brig, squeezing his arms tight, dragging him between the both of them. He turned just as they made faces, doing battle with their prisoner’s struggling. The chum sack was missing, and Signless was drenched from head to toe: beastblood stink, entrails, and bits of old meat clung to him like parasites. He glared at Dualscar with such rage in his eyes that the Captain sneered with pride at his reaction. That was the mark of the beginning of a wonderful punishment: bitterness incarnate wrapped up in a pretty, odd, hot-blooded package.

 

“Phwooooh!! You smell how this lowdog reeks?” That was the teal who was on Signless’s left. They waved a hand in front of their nose for emphasis.

 

The blueblood to his right laughed heartily. “I don't smell nothin’ different. I think that's just how he _always_ smelled. Stupid, dirty, wretched fuckin’ red-eyed freak.”

 

“What's you want us to do, Cap’n?” Asked the teal, shaking the long length of rope slung over their shoulder with a fanged grin. Signless just hung there between the two trolls, limp, but infuriated. His hands balled up into a pair of fists.

 

Dualscar waved his hand to indicate pause, then bent forward until he was inches from Signless. They were nearly nose to nose. He could smell the anger on him; feel the heat of the lowblood’s hatred. Not a hint of pitch, and he didn't expect as such. But even without that, the feeling of this - the knowledge that he had gotten under Signless’s skin - was rightfully intoxicating. “Anything to say now, mutant?” He asked, his voice rumbling like an approaching storm on the horizon. “Tell me somethin’ nice and maybe I'll cut your time in half.”

 

Signless glared hotly. Dualscar saw his jaw clench; then, the convex bulge of him pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. He said nothing in return.

 

“Might wanna consider the offer.” Dualscar chuckled, delighting in the way Signless stood there, wet and smelly and debased. “I got plans in store for you.”

 

Again, nothing. Dualscar extended the wait a few more seconds that time to relish the silence. Really? Getting drenched in rotting fish remains was all it took to quiet him down? “Hurts, doesn’t it.” He said, prodding at the other now. Just taking the opportunity to point out how absolutely miserable he must be, because he was Captain, and he could do that. “Bet havin’ that dirty beastblood in your cuts must sting like a fucking bitch.” He snickered, “Sure you wanna keep your mouth shut? I promise, I’m a man of my word. Just gimme somethin’ sweet, I’ll make it better.”

 

Signless waited a few moments.

 

And then he lurched, spitting pale saliva and flecks of candy blood in Dualscar’s face.

 

Dualscar flinched his eyes shut, straightening, and snarled. Okay - scratch that. Not to the point of rolling over after all.

 

He wiped away the evidence and gave Signless a furious look. “Just for that,” he hissed, “Ya get _double_ your time. If that's how ya want it you be my fucking guest.” He looked to his crew, pointing to the front of the ship.

 

“Take him to the bowsprit and tie him down tight. Two days. No food or water. Let the squawkbeasts pick at the guts if they like. When you’re done with that, make sure we get the rest of the cargo fed and prepared for the night’s rest.”

 

The trolls haw’ed and hoh’d in joy, then merrily pulled Signless away to serve his torturous sentence. Dualscar watched him go, mouth set into a scowl, mood ruined. Eventually, the little bastard would crack - he _had_ to. And if a couple days tied to the ship like an ornament covered in old carcasses wouldn't be enough, then Dualscar would just have to think of something else. He had plenty of time. Besides, past experience had granted him a _wealth_ of creativity not often witnessed aboard other ships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **BREEDING LANDS:** Various islands scattered throughout Alternia's oceanic waters which have been hastily re-purposed into a neutral meeting site for trolls who are ocean-bound, and unable to make it ashore for pailing. Visitors to the breeding lands typically have a grace period of one day to find suitable pailing partners if they have not acquired them already. [JUMP BACK]


	4. Slime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: grooming behavior, implied/referenced non-consensual drug use**

Dualscar cut through another perfectly-cooked tentacle on his plate, requiring little effort apart from the slightest press of his knife. It was another wonderful spread, all of it fresh-caught, pan-seared, and delivered directly to his cabin. Across from him, seated in a well-crafted chair suited for special guests, was the young oliveblood he so fancied. As he placed the bite of food into his mouth, he cast violet eyes over her (she was a her, he discovered) from top to toes. Taking the time to see her with a fresh perspective now that she was cleaned and dressed in fresh clothes. Nothing too special, mind - but it was a miracle what some bright linens with no dirt or muck on them could do for a pretty troll’s complexion.

 

She was a vision; he knew he’d picked right for the lucky lover in his red quadrant this time around. She had a soft face and cute little curves and her hair was thick, luxurious, and curly when it wasn’t matted down with grime. Her horns were so thin that they nearly got lost in it, but hints of them were still visible: a ringlet of orange and yellow wrapped about her crown, with the four ends poking out among the coils. Did she appreciate the gifts he gave her? Did she like the baths, the clothes, the food? The lenient treatment aboard his ship? Dualscar hoped that she accepted his intentions. He hadn’t failed a single season yet, but there was always that chance. He didn’t want to resort to finding someone last-minute when they ran ashore on the breeding lands - he did have _some_ standards.

 

“How’s the dish, my dear?” He asked, which was a prompting because her speed of consumption had slowed to a crawl with half her supper still remaining. This was an improvement over the first night, though: today she ate on her own, without his encouraging her with sweet tones and the smallest hint of red pheromones he knew she would pick up on. Little steps. He had until midway through the next perigee to get this right, and she was such a nervous creature. But Dualscar had pailed with far more anxious trolls in his long centuries living on Alternia.

 

The olive troll looked down at her plate, poking some of the aquatic meat around with her fork, full lips pursed together. She offered him a careful smile. “It’s good.” She said, shy as could be. Dualscar had to adjust the cant of his head in order to hear.

 

He tried, as always, to be gentle. She was such a perfect, pitiable troll. Maybe if things were different, this arrangement could have been more permanent. Dualscar chuckled, “It ain’t no dish for the Empress, but our cook sure can make a meal outta practically nothin’ if given enough time an’ spices.”

 

She prodded one tentacle around, humming in an absent tone before quietly cutting off a bite and putting it in her mouth. Her eyes flicked rapidly between Dualscar and her plate as she worked to finish what she could of the meal, but it was clear within mere moments that she was far too distracted to clean her plate. He could also hear the soft creaking of the floorboards beneath one of her feet as she bounced her leg under the table, much like she did two nights ago.

 

Dualscar's lips tightened into a small frown. He inhaled, ear-fins flaring out before relaxing in a classic show of amenity for a seadweller. Even he, with his damaged nose, could smell the wafts of pity rolling off him as his signature changed. And even with that, when he finally nudged his boot to her ankle, she _jumped_ with a small cry before he clasped her hand under his. He squeezed so softly - like she might shatter to pieces if he touched her wrong. Still she trembled and watched him with terror in her pretty green eyes.

 

“You’re not in any danger here.” He told her, trying his best to make his smile non-threatening. Difficult to do when he had two full rows of teeth, all needled to a point and serrated for tearing through flesh like soft butter. Nevermind the fact that _any_ sea-bound troll - especially one such as Dualscar - would be a nightmare of an encounter for someone like her. The poor thing stared at him like he had the mind to take a bite out of her. Her fingers twitched with an instinctive response to flee, and she vibrated with lukewarm anxiety beneath his palm.

 

When she gave no response, he sighed with a slow heave of his chest. “I really do want you to feel comfortable here. I know this must be a difficult thing to reconcile.”

 

The oliveblood blinked back at him in shock and did not move. If not for her soft, constant breathing, Dualscar would have assumed her dead on the spot. “You really can speak your mind, ya know.” He said - patient, but growing mildly flustered with her catatonic silence. “I ain't gonna put you to work for talkin’ back, long as there's no screamin’.”

 

He rubbed a thumb along the back of her hand in a gesture he hoped would be taken as comforting. She squeezed his fingers back; his pusher froze with some hope. A step in the right direction, maybe?

 

And then: “Why?”

 

He stopped, regarding her as something familiar now. This was a question that arrived often with his red pailing partners. Explaining it over and over again throughout the sweeps was starting to get old, and he couldn't help the flash of annoyance in his face.

 

“Why what, little jewel?”

 

Her eyebrows pressed together. She still couldn't shake her inherent terror, sometimes stuttering as she asked, “Why all this? The dinners, the clothes? You could -” She stopped, swallowing down hard. Dualscar waited for her to finish, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

 

“You could have me any way you wanted.” She finished nervously, adding even further, “Any _where_ you wanted. Any _time_ you wanted.”

 

Dualscar’s hand retreated from hers, though the toe of his boot stayed pressed to her ankle as he mulled over the olive's words. She bounced her leg regardless, then pushed her knees together and gripped the tablecloth under split nails. "I smell the red from you." She mentioned, "I know that the season for pailing is coming soon."

 

The fact that she was on to him didn't concern Dualscar in the slightest. All of them always caught on one way or the other - there was no way around it for a troll in his position. He was too mobile to settle down with a stable quadrant system; he couldn't maintain a single consistent partnership even if he wanted to. Every coupling was just another box checked, another cycle survived, another pail filled. Dualscar was well aware since his first molt into adulthood that a solid quadrant relation would never show in his cards; but that didn't mean he wanted to treat each encounter like the one-and-done arrangement it always turned out to be. He liked the idea of the chase. He found pleasure in the thought and planning that went into the proper stages of courtship for a quadrant as one might experience in a less demanding occupation.

 

“Is that what you'd be expectin' of me?” He asked, keeping his tone even.

 

For the first time, the oliveblood replied without a moment's pause. “Yes!” She cried, watching him like he might go off and hit her for the transgression. Or worse.

 

But all Dualscar did was sit in his chair: calm, motionless, cool as the violet color that ran in his veins. He tapped his claws to the table a few times, then asked the younger troll, “Now what would be the point'a that?”

 

She didn't seem to understand his counter-argument. He could see that the idea of a mate in a caste far higher than hers treating her with any amount of kindness was a completely foreign concept - though this was no surprise to him either, for all the colors he often preferred mating with.

 

Although he loathed this part of the entire process, Dualscar explained to her, patient as he could manage: “I ain't gonna pluck you up an’ throw ya down like a dumb animal. I know I can; but I won’t. Not how you're meant to treat a proper quadrant-mate.”

 

The response didn't assure her in the least; still she looked at him like he’d spoken in another tongue, and he heard very little in response. Dualscar watched her for any sign of relaxation, but found none. The most he’d apparently accomplished was confusing the poor young troll. That was just as well, he supposed - at least he’d put the idea in her head that this didn’t have to be all bad. Maybe she just needed to sit on it for a while.

 

Dualscar pulled back his foot from her ankle and gave the oliveblood a smile as gentle as he could manage. “Why don’t you give it some thought?” He suggested. “Consider what I told ya. I can be a gentle and generous man, truly. Might even let you rest in my cabin if you behave well.” He set his utensils down, gesturing to her half-finished plate after a pause. “Gonna finish what I gave you?”

 

The oliveblood, anxious and tense, shook her head quickly. He released a soft sigh. “Right, then.” Dualscar stood to circle around, taking her by one arm. He took care not to harm her as he helped her to her feet through her own nerves, then escorted her to the door - and back to the dark, dry cells of the brig. “That’s alright, dear. Ya did what ya could.”

 

She mumbled something under her breath that Dualscar didn’t quite catch. He tipped his head, one ear-fin pricking up. “Whassat?”

 

“I said, thank you, Captain.” She repeated. “For the...for the dinner. And the clothes. I’m sorry that I didn’t finish my meal.”

 

He led her along with a hand to her back. A few soft, affectionate clicking sounds trilled from his throat as they headed for the cells. “No trouble, love. No trouble at all.”

 

* * *

 

The brig was dark as it always was, save for the sparse lights dangling from the ceiling. It was a simple enough thing to take the young olive back to her cell for the night - just in time for all the wares to get their nightly distribution of medicine. Yauker had the tray ready soon after Dualscar went down the line of cells, and made short work of passing out cups full of boiled sopor and a mixed-in sedative to each cell. (He had some difficulty with the hand that was missing some fingers, but he made it work with a bit of effort.)

 

“Remember, ya dirty wigglers, better that you drink it willingly ‘stead of gettin’ yer shot!” He called, loud enough that the entire brig could hear. “Don’t want the doctor to get rough with ya!”

 

There was a hiss from the cell beside the oliveblood’s as Yauker spoke. Dualscar glanced over just in time to see that their resident white-haired mustard troll crouched beside a lantern light, wiping down his mutant patient where there were some old wounds from the past two days. Given the fresh stitching and the clean patches of skin, he had worked tirelessly over the past couple of hours, at least, to disinfect and treat all of Signless’s wounds. It looked like some of the squawkbeasts pecked at his flesh where the chum bits stuck to him. He smelled _ungodly_ \- like old fish left out to rot under the Alternian sun - and looked equally as miserable. It brought a smile to Dualscar’s face as he finished locking up his oliveblood’s cell.

 

“Wouldn’t worry much about the doctor this evening,” he said. “He’s lookin’ a mite preoccupied. Best you lot get more concerned about how old Yauker’s gonna be for skippin’ yer dosage.”

 

“Serpen.”

 

“ _Hush,_ ” snipped the doctor.

 

Dualscar paused, catching the scowl on the signless troll’s features. He leered at the mutant through the wooden grate, moving so he stood in front of the other’s cell. “Come again?”

 

Signless flinched as the doctor dabbed a clean, wet rag over another one of his wounds, and gave Dualscar a rather bitter look. “Your doctor. His name is Serpen. Serpen Taspid.”

 

“Captain knows damn well what my name is.” Serpen clicked his tongue in irritation, eyes never leaving his work. “He just doesn’t care.”

 

Signless looked directly at Dualscar as he mumbled: “Well, he _should_.”

 

“For what?” Demanded the Captain. “It don’t affect me none not knowin’ his name. Don’t affect the crew, neither.”

 

“You would disrespect your only caretaker aboard the ship?” Signless challenged. “You keep him locked up in the dark with the rest of your prizes, and you can’t even bother with his name?”

 

“He knows his place, and we know what he does.” Dualscar growled, “It’s a fair trade. He keeps the breath in his lungs so long as he does good work. Hell, I even feed him the better rations most nights when the option’s there. You gonna preach to me about that, now, too? Preacher-boy?”

 

“I’m nearly twenty sweeps in full.” Signless snapped, “I’m no _boy._ ”

 

Dualscar barked laughter. His hands came up and he wiggled his fingers against the bars in mockery. “Oooooh! _Twenty!_ Such knowledge you must possess for a lowblood! Shame the Empress has that price on your head. I’ll have to refrain from talkin’ outta turn to point out the fact you’re likely to keel over any fuckin’ perigee now!”

 

“Maybe I _won’t_ keel over.” Signless shot him a very sharp look, baring sharp land-dweller’s teeth behind full lips. “I’m an abomination, remember? I could be the first warmblood to live as long as the Empress for all you know.”

 

“Awww, that’s so precious!” Cooed Dualscar, saccharine in tone as he let out a few faux-affectionate seadweller clicks. “Precious little freakblood’s got one’a those wild impossible dreams again! Wanna know the kinda years I got on you, _boy?_ I’ll tell ya plain: I was sailin’ these seas as Captain long ‘fore you were even a spatter of material in the Mother Grub’s slurry. Your twenty sweeps ain’t even a fuckin’ _blink_ for me.” He added in a more vicious tone: “Hence, I’d be thinkin’ twice about tellin’ me things like you know so damn much. Not unless you’re seein’ fit to have another few nights tied up again.”

 

There was an annoyed snarl from Serpen at the suggestion. Whether the threat troubled Signless or not, he gave no indication of such. He just continued his withering, silent glare while Serpen continued through the last steps of tending his wounds. A subject change eventually occurred when Yauker passed by the cell and slid two cups of boiled sopor slime in: one for Signless, one for the doctor. He regarded the cups in disgust, then turned his attention to the Captain once again. “What’s this ‘dosage’ that you’re giving to us?”

 

Interesting. Dualscar thought he would have caught on by now - then again, must have missed the first few nights. Getting beaten up for the first and tied up alone for two days after would do that. No matter. He gestured out with his arms spread. “You see any cocoons around here for sleepin’?”

 

“No.” Signless replied. “Perhaps you should consider a few. I’m sure if you get enough of them piled together you could sink a whole ship.”

 

Dualscar’s lips curled into a scowl as he regarded the other troll. “Astounding that you still hold onto the notion I should give any fucks about most of the trolls kept down here.”

 

“Oh, I hold no notions of such. None whatsoever.” Signless told him, mouth splitting into a wide grin, “I just like to imagine what it would be like to see this ship going under due to your own theoretical incompetence.”

 

Dualscar realized that he was now beginning to understand at least part of the reason why Signless must be such a thoroughly hated troll among the cooler colors. All rebellious nonsense aside, he was the most _obnoxious brat_ he ever had the displeasure of meeting. Everything that came out of his mouth was something snappy, or unbearably self-righteous. The continued habit of taking shots at his conduct was starting to get old, and they hadn’t even interacted that much, and they had a _long_ journey ahead before reaching the Condesce’s palace. What gave this mouthy bastard the right to act so morally superior? Was _he_ the one running the goddamn ship?

 

The only reason he wasn’t doing away with the piece of shit already was the price on his head. Thinking of that, however, reminded Dualscar how the troll pointed out this very fact before. He inhaled long through his nose, willing away the starting headache which followed.

 

He bent down towards the bars. “You listen.” Dualscar hissed, “I’ve warned you before, now I’ll tell you again one last time: I only gotta keep you _breathing_ to collect my reward. Breathing and in a relatively recognizable state where the Empress can tell you’re still a troll, and not some pile of hoofbeast manure I scraped off the plains. I can make your life as miserable as I want it to be - the shit I already put you through is _mild._ ”

 

Signless’s eyes narrowed into a leer. “Am I supposed to thank you for your sense of mercy?”

 

“Ain’t lookin’ for thanks. Just telling you again if you want this trip stayin’ pleasant, you need to learn to _shut yer mouth._ ”

 

The signless troll replied, like it negated the entire statement preceding his own: “I am in a padlocked wooden cell in a dark hold on an Orphaner’s personal slaver ship.”

 

“Yeah. Ain’t that the bitch of livin’?” Dualscar straightened himself to his full height, then began to walk away. He no longer held any interest in conversation with a mutant-blooded ingrate. He called out an answer to Signless’s question as he left, but didn’t bother to stay for the reaction. “Best you drink down that sopor if you want a good night’s rest. You sure ain’t gettin’ it any other way. Might even make you a mite more agreeable for the trip, who the fuck knows.”

 

* * *

 

Not more than an hour after leaving the hold, Dualscar wondered just what sort of Elder God he may have pissed off to deserve what he was being forced to endure.

 

He regarded Yauker with a look that could shake the heavens. The troll standing before him visibly cowered in fear as he spoke. “Run that by me again. One more time.” It was almost a challenge as much as a demand. “I think these old ears of mine are startin’ to go.”

 

Yauker, with wide purple eyes, stuttered in his response. Dualscar could see he was now reconsidering the idea of bringing this news to the confines of the Captain’s quarters. At least outside, on the main deck, there was freedom of movement.

 

“The. Uh. The. The...signless...thing. I went to check on, uh, on the cargo. Make sure they had their dose. Y’know. And he. Uh. He didn’t. Take it.”

 

Dualscar breathed in. Yauker looked ready to shit himself as his Captain drummed his claws against the small dining table in his room. Old violet eyes rolled shut like he was praying for strength. “What is the first rule of serving the nightly doses for new prisoners?”

 

In an uncharacteristically small voice for a purpleblood, Yauker replied: “Watch to make sure they drink it?”

 

“And whose problem is it,” Dualscar continued, “If a prisoner does not drink their sopor dose?”

 

Yauker did not reply. Instead, he fidgeted with his still-healing hand, where he was now missing all of his fingers except for the index and his thumb. Dualscar caught the motion as he opened his eyes, and just about pinned Yauker in place with the angry look that followed.

 

“Whose responsibility was it to make sure our cargo was rightly dosed for the night?”

 

Still there was no response. The silence stretched on until Dualscar slammed his fist down and straightened against his chair. “ _Answer_ me, ya fuckin’ dirt-monger! Your Captain just asked you a question!”

 

“I _know_ it was mine, Captain, but I ain’t goin’ down there to shove the slime in his mouth!” Yauker finally cried, shrinking back in the direction of the door. He waved his two-fingered hand in front of his face as though it might shield him from his Captain’s wrath. “I learned my fuckin’ lesson, okay! I ain’t fixin’ to lose any fingers on my _other_ hand, too!”

 

Dualscar started to draw himself up to standing height. “It surely ain’t the signless one you’ll be worryin’ about takin’ your fingers if you don’t go down there and fix the problem!”

 

“He’s a fucking mutant, Captain!” Yauker exclaimed, wide-eyed and almost wild with fear. “A sinful mark off the scale of the hemospectrum! What if he’s _diseased?_ What if I catch what he’s got?!”

 

Dualscar _roared,_ loud enough that any passersby would hear him if they slipped by the cabin outside. “You _bum-witted idiot_ straight from a cluckbeast’s fuckin’ mangy waste chute! It’s a goddamn _blood mutation!_ Unless you somehow came from the same slimy egg as his in the brooding caverns, you ain’t catching shit! It ain’t no fucking mystical disease, and he ain’t a miracle worker!”

 

“But _Captain_ -”

 

“ _Quiet!!_ ” Dualscar went to his full height, ear-fins pinned forward in a threatening display. Yauker was one of the only trolls aboard the ship who got anywhere close to him in size, and right about now, the purpleblood still looked small by comparison. “I have not commanded authority over this ship for the past several centuries for my crew to be done in by one obnoxious lowblood! Just because he’s a gift for the Empress to collect on the coin doesn’t make him special! He is _cargo._ And _what_ do we do with cargo that we bring aboard this ship?”

 

Yauker started to respond with something, but Dualscar cut him off before he could finish, slamming both hands on his table. “What do we _do_ with the cargo, dirt-monger?!”

 

“C-Cuh-Command them, sir!”

 

Like he was shouting at a child, Dualscar replied, “We _command ownership_ over them! Which means they do exactly what we say _exactly when we tell ‘em to do it!_ Anything less is entirely unacceptable!”

 

He reached out and grabbed Yauker by his cravat, yanking him in close. “Do you realize the message you are sending by letting this freakblood get one over on you?” He demanded. “Are you going to let an abomination like that tell ya how to do your job?!”

 

Yauker sucked in a breath, but Dualscar could swear he was about to cry. Which was absurd, and also a complete disgrace. Crybabies were not allowed aboard his ship. He made a note to put Yauker _through the fucking wringer_ in the days ahead. Once more, Dualscar repeated, shouting louder than before: “ _Are you?!_ ”

 

“No, no, no sir!”

 

Dualscar snarled right in Yauker’s face, getting nose-to-nose with him, then shoved him away. “Too fuckin’ late, lad, ya already did.”

 

Almost immediately, Yauker panicked. “Wuh-wait! No! Captain, I can fix it! I’ll go down right away and force him the dose!”

 

“You already proved you ain’t gonna do shit but run your mouth at me if the freak so much as twitches in your direction.” Dualscar snapped, “You’re a weak, spindly excuse for a troll, and you’re no longer allowed back through the cargo until I’m _positive_ I can trust you.” He sat down, pointing Yauker towards the exit, his verdict decided. “Get Reynah and Corelo. Make sure you tell them _exactly_ whose fault it is that they gotta waste their time babysitting the mutant when you go. Have them report the results to me when they finish, and if I hear so much as a _squeak_ outta you in complaint, I’ll tear out your throat. Clear?”

 

The purpleblood looked for all the world like Dualscar had just castrated him and presented him to the Imperial Drones with twin empty pails taped to his hands. He stood for another moment or two, up until Dualscar glared at him. “ _Are we clear,_ Yauker?”

 

“Yes!” He piped, not wanting to make his punishment any worse than he knew it would already be. “Crystal, Captain! Crystal clear!”

 

“Well then what’s you standin’ around in my cabin for?!”

 

Yauker fled without another word, and Dualscar wondered how it was possible for his blood to change temperature so drastically over one dumb troll. It was difficult for him to tell if the troll in question was Signless, or his own crew member.


	5. ==> Entry Log

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everyone who has given kudos and left comments thus far! I appreciate all of you and I'm glad you are enjoying the story. <3
> 
> **CW: Implied torture/physical assault and discussion of such; implied non-consensual drug use; mentions of starvation**

Following the Signless’s refusal to adhere to evening dosage, the next several nights were quite trying. In the end, success rate at forcing him to take the sopor medicine was more or less on an uptick, but we were soon faced with a different problem altogether - because Signless is, if anything, unendingly stubborn. Finding new ways to show defiance appeared to be a born talent of his; one which I found rather infuriating to deal with.

 

After a couple nights of Reynah and Corelo successfully dosing him with the sedative, we discovered that he was skipping his rations. This, too, I tried to halt with all my available willpower. Force-feeding the food, however, was much more difficult than just sticking a needle in his arm. We had no means, space, or manpower to struggle with holding down a single troll for hours on end. And that is no exaggeration; the feeding schedule in the cargo hold, once one of the easiest to allot among the crew, suddenly became one of the most dread assignments. Trying to get Signless to do _anything_ other than consume a few sips of water did, indeed, take upwards of three hours or more for the most determined among my crew. Adding to the frustration, further discovery yielded that anything we managed to get in his gullet, he would vomit up the moment we turned away. Within a couple of days, trolls were holding contests and drawing straws to see who would divvy out the cargo rations. Where once a single crew member could _and would_ merrily serve all three meals, they were suddenly split in shifts. They also started trying to get creative with teams, almost always with a minimum of three trolls descending into the brig _just_ to keep him sufficiently pinned down.

 

And this was not including the amount of physical assault he endured. I told my crew “by any means necessary” was the operating factor here - which meant they were free to do as they liked, short of anything sexually motivated. This was standard aboard the Angel’s Light; I’ve always found sexual conquests outside of pailing season absolutely deplorable, unless with a well-established concupiscent quadrant-mate. Only once did such an arrangement ever happen aboard my ship. My last helmsman and my cook several centuries prior became engaged in a particularly heated caliginous relationship which continued for over two centuries. Speaking for once as an observer rather than a participant...I had never been so uncomfortable in my entire life.

 

In any case, this battle of wills went on until nearly a week had passed since taking him down from the bowsprit. Nine days with no food and very little water, on top of mounting aggression against the crew with each passing feeding. And, exactly as I predicted, in all that time the trouble didn't start until the moment the crew realized just how tenacious he was. They began to do little more besides taking out their anger on him inside the space of a few days. I didn’t notice right away because people were still regularly rationing the rest of the cargo, but I soon found they would conveniently “forget” to bring him his food. Instead they would beat him, burn him, psychically torment him, hold his face down in a cleaning basin - anything that they could think of. At the time, I did not mind this terribly much. Again: “by any means necessary.”

 

But as I was taught by my Captain before me, the very instant you give any ground - even an inch of it - your enemy knows they have won. Hence, despite ship-wide complaints and total lack of success, it was my firm command that Signless needed to be fed. Same schedule as the rest of the cargo, regardless of what he tried. I thought, eventually, with all of the abuse and continued persistence of multiple crew members, he would learn his place. Everyone who passed through the hold always did, one way or another.

 

But it turned out this was the very problem with my line of thinking. Figuring out how to fight him was like trying to put together an impossible puzzle: he _would not break._

 

Make no mistake: it is not that I was unaccustomed to handling a difficult haul. However, on average, even the fiercest trolls - no matter their color - tended to cease all resistance within five or six days. And in general, this required little more than a gentle push like the bowsprit punishment. That had become the standard for the last few centuries; which I had noticed, but didn’t think much upon. Until Signless came around.

 

I realized then that, regrettably, my technique was slipping. And in general, my crew at the time was wholly inexperienced in handling cargo that behaved this way. It used to be there were often much longer, much tougher fights with the slaves I pulled aboard: in my youth, it could take as long as a perigee or more before they would crack. Punishments were also considerably harsher. Some of them _never_ gave in, and died in transit, though this was an end I tried my very best to avoid. There’s no money to be made in corpses, after all, unless you’re a threshecutioner.

 

Besides these things, I was also still presented with the same issue which haunted me since agreeing to take Signless’s hit: turning in special cargo for the Empress is an entirely different beast from selling common wares on the slaver’s blocks in the major cities.

 

The distinction, as I discovered early in my career, was quite large between royal bounties and those posted by legislacerators. For the latter, there are the kinds that are for other legislacerators - the Priority Interests - as well as Common Interest hits. Common Interests are the kind which can be snapped up by anyone. The coin to be earned in them is modest, and often adds a hefty sum to your pockets on top of the regular slaving trade. However, common bounties usually have very few stipulations as to the condition of the target, if there are any at all. In fact, much of the time, such assignments simply say “Dead Or Alive.” There is a bit of bonus money in presenting a live catch, but hardly enough to make it worth one’s while; though I suppose it’s possible some head-hunters enjoy the challenge.

 

Bounties posted by the Empress, however, are highly coveted as well as incredibly rare. They are _never_ meant to be handled the same as Common Interest hits. I had already made a lot of decisions about Signless’s care which could land me in hot water if I didn’t correct it before turning him in. At the rate things were going, I would have to spend at least an extra perigee simply keeping him in recovery so that his physical injuries would heal in full. For though it wasn’t technically a lie to tell Signless he only need draw air in Her presence, what I never mentioned was how it was _my_ responsibility to keep him looking as perfect as I could manage. This was where many trolls who claimed the Empress’s personal demands often made their mistakes, which cost them their coin and - if She was insulted enough - their lives. The Empress likes her presents _shiny._

 

Petty and a bit ludicrous, now that I think of it. Very much like a child given the power to start a bidding war between her best friends. “I want this one,” She says, “and I want it right off the shelf wrapped in a pretty little box. First one to bring it to me gets a prize. The prize is that I won’t potentially kill you.”

 

Anyway.

 

To summarize: Signless had seen fit to stick to a fucking hunger strike. My crew not only had no idea how to properly break in a troll who resisted in this manner, but became increasingly distressed by his determination with each passing day. In addition, although my own experience in such manners was rusty, it had not completely diminished. However, if I wanted to collect on his reward, I was barred from sliding backwards into my old methods. For the duration of his little strike, I relied on my crew to try and think outside the box with torturing him because my personal techniques were always a little more “creative.” But creativity ran a high chance of killing him - which I wanted to avoid. Presenting a half-broken toy to the Empress was almost as terrifying as ruining it beyond repair before She could even lay hands on it.

 

After the tenth day, things were getting a bit desperate. I couldn’t have him dying, but I needed him to cooperate for the duration of the trip - at least until we were close enough to turning him in. Overdosing him on sopor and sedative wouldn’t do, either, for the same reason why I had to keep him in good physical condition. I sat in my cabin for many hours reflecting on this while the crew continued with their chores. There was another option left, but I was loathe to take it. The teachings of my old Captain were rolling around in my pan as I considered the choices laid out before me.

 

Noon feeding came around.

 

I pulled Corelo aside and told him to extend Signless and invitation. My cook was then instructed to prepare a special meal. I’ll never forget the look on that whimpering codfish's face when I gave my orders; he was already disgusted by the fact that I was requesting an oliveblood to come and go from my cabin. The fact that I was even preparing for something of this manner with a troll who should have been culled before hatching was unthinkable to him.

 

In retrospect, though things between myself and my crew at that time were already slated to get a bit rocky in the future, it was nothing I couldn’t correct on my own under any other circumstances. Folks on a ship will get rowdy. Once in a great while, threats of rebellion will happen. It keeps a Captain on his toes and presents a good outlet for everyone to air their grievances before the natural order is re-established. Except now there was a mutant involved, and I had ultimately shown weakness by permitting him amicable treatment aboard my ship.

 

At the time, perhaps my greatest mistake was the fact that I had somehow become far more invested in Signless than in the interests of my own crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[NEXT UPDATE: 07/08 - 07/09]**
> 
> (Because the next part is going to be especially fun to write, so it should be posted sooner than usual)


	6. Parlay [ I ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now have a quick something about my sex and gender headcanons for trolls. I already kind of hinted at something with Signless in Chapter 2, but I've chosen to bring it up now because Dualscar gets more up close and personal, so it's just one of the many things he ends up noticing.
> 
> Alternian society's relationship with sex and gender here is very non-emphatic. They are considered separate spectrums which are experienced in tandem; sex is understood (albeit vaguely) as determined by physical/genetic characteristics, and gender is defined by the individual. But so long as one can produce viable genetic material, they're more or less given full autonomy over their identity, so neither of these comes up in conversation much.
> 
> This is not to say discrimination based on either/both doesn't happen. However, with the way that I approach Alternian culture, it gets complex in its own way because it's mostly _blood color_ that determines how these ideas mesh together. The nuances are enough that I don't feel like I could summarize them in a few footnotes, and I don't want the story to get too bogged down by chunks of worldbuilding.
> 
> So, bottom line, I want to bring attention to other things. Therefore I'm refraining from putting too much focus on sex, gender identity, and discrimination. (And in addition: I, a non-binary person, am someone who personally prefers to write their trans and non-binary characters at a point where they are "mostly" or 100% comfortable with themselves.)
> 
> I do have a pair of character profiles for Signless and Dualscar handy which encompasses most of my headcanons for them. They will be linked within the end notes to my side-blog on Tumblr. Though do note that Dualscar's personality section is _very_ incomplete, since it would literally be spoilers if I gave away too much!
> 
>  
> 
> **CW: some fighting; nudity; derogatory lowblood slurs; verbal abuse; mild physical abuse**

The smell that reached Dualscar’s nose when Signless was brought to his cabin was such a pungent, horrible, _overwhelming_ stench that even with the door remaining open, it seemed to permeate the room. The troll who escorted him from the hold had a rag wrapped over his mouth and nose, having planned ahead with that little detail in mind. Dualscar wasn’t quite so lucky, and it was all he could do to keep a straight face while his prized captive stood before him. Brought to his cabin, as ordered, and with a fine meal being prepared for the both of them.

 

Signless didn’t appear all that bothered by the powerful stink clinging to his body. But how could he, with the sort of shape he was in? He still bore the oozing wounds of the treatment he endured; he tried to hide how unsteady he was on his feet, but it was clear that hunger was starting to weaken him, if it hadn’t already started days ago. Dualscar could see how he swayed, could hear the gurgling of the other’s belly in the cutting silence of the cabin. His clothes were in tatters. The anonymous gray cloak he came aboard with was now gone altogether - and _what_ the _hell_ was he wearing? Not that it was much of anything _now_ with the shape it was in, but seriously. What the fuck was he wearing? Who put him in those...were those leggings? Did they have to go that high? Was that a stylistic choice? The fact that they even existed at all made Dualscar unnecessarily angry for reasons he couldn’t fathom describing.

 

“Captain, if you’re fit to go now, could I _please_ be excused?” Asked the young crew member who had a hold of Signless’s bonds. He was shackled at the wrists and ankles to prevent him trying anything. Length upon length of connecting chain links made a rough “I” formation overall: only three links between his wrists, about the distance from shoulder to shoulder for his ankles, and a line to connect the two right down the middle. There was also the lead attached to it, which currently rested in the hands of the tealblood begging to leave. The wrist shackles didn’t quite fit right; there was some chitinous, brick-red plating on Signless’s forearms that had obviously served as a point of difficulty, because the metal of the shackles was biting down into them.

 

Dualscar inhaled - or started to, and immediately regretted it. Yep. Nope. He could not do this. He wanted to figure out what made this troll tick; truly. He wanted to get results that would make him stop fighting so hard. But he couldn’t do it when Signless smelled worse than something a lusus had dragged into the hive.

 

The tealblood started to protest again after doing the same thing, groaning as a result. “Captain -”

 

“ _Yes,_ yes, yes, go. Just go. _Wait,_ you idiot, not so fast.” He had to stop them before he fled - the teal just about dropped the chains and started running. He had a look of obvious distress at being made to stay any longer. “Is there still enough water collected for a bath?”

 

He took one look at Signless, who stood perfectly still, refraining from any opinion about the fact that two trolls were talking around him like he wasn’t even there. Given the way the tealblood responded, the idea of putting Signless through a good wash was almost preferable to letting him fester in the hold. “I think so, sir. Pretty sure.”

 

“Fine. Have them draw up enough for my ablution trap.” Dualscar dismissed the younger pirate with a wave of his hand and added: “Make sure it’s not freezing cold, neither.”

 

“Oh, indeed,” Signless drawled from his designated standing place. “Wouldn’t want me to have _another_ unscripted ice bath. That could kill me.”

 

Dualscar focused on Signless with a dark look as the teal hurriedly brought the chain lead over to him. “Don’t get smart with me, and don’t be ridiculous. It won’t _kill_ you.”

 

Signless squinted at him. As the teal tried to hurry past, he moved his foot _just_ a hair, and the unfortunate troll didn’t catch it in time before he went sailing face-first into the cabin floor. (His fault, if he wasn’t quick enough to catch it.) “Have you ever seen what extreme and sudden temperature shock does to a warmblood?” He asked, ignoring the alarmed howling. “I very well _could have_ died if Serpen hadn’t treated me so well in my cage. If you don’t want to risk my health, the bath water needs to be warm.”

 

Angry mutterings erupted from the troll that he’d tripped, while Dualscar _struggled_ to hold his breath. “The water’s gonna be _tepid,_ and that’s the most you’re getting from me.”

 

“Interesting. I thought you brought me here for negotiations in order to get me to eat.”

 

Dualscar pointed an accusing finger at Signless. “ _Do not_ presume to know my plans for you, lowblood whelp. That attitude of yours is gonna get us started on the wrong foot,” he warned. “We ain’t negotiating yet. Ya can’t demand shit from me before I’ve even opened up the table, that ain’t how it works.”

 

Signless paused a moment, the teal who once held his lead struggling to his feet and trying not to gag through his cloth cover and trying to go for the door. He tipped his head in a curious motion, then started walking straight over to Dualscar, chains clinking together. He somehow managed to make shuffling look graceful, even with the state he was in.

 

“I want a warm bath.”

 

Dualscar, confused, scrunched his nose and replied: “I already told you, ya can’t make that demand!”

 

“I apologize - let me try again with my manners intact.”

 

Signless kept walking. It dawned on Dualscar when he was six steps away what he was doing, and he suddenly realized he didn’t have the capacity to contain, within his own body, the absolute disdain he held for this troll. He tried to lean away from the smell. He refused to move - but _God_ did he want to. Signless kept walking until he was almost toe-to-toe with Dualscar, then stretched himself up as much as his height would allow. Dualscar breathed at the wrong moment and his eyes actually watered. He fought with every available ounce of willpower not to squint or crinkle his nose.

 

“I _would like_ a warm bath, _please.”_

 

Dualscar wheezed through his gills, the slits opening wide along either side of his neck, because he was trying not to inhale through the nose. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter where the air was filtering through; especially not with Signless this close. In the end, he snapped. “For fuck’s sake!” He growled at the crew member scurrying for the door, “Will ya just fuckin’ get someone drawin’ a damn bath for this freak! Make it fit for a rustie for all I care! Just get his stink outta my cabin!”

 

Signless smiled in a rather smug fashion, for someone who had starved himself and was still a prisoner aboard his ship. Dualscar snarled at him, ear-fins flaring in a threat display as the cabin door swung shut and they were left alone, hurried footfalls of the tealblood fading to the main deck.

 

“I swear to fuck, if you don’t start makin’ some space, I’ll take these chains and choke you with ‘em.”

 

Signless clicked his tongue, unspoken sarcasm settling into his features as he stepped back a few paces. “ _More,_ ” commanded Dualscar. Signless rolled his eyes, but he continued. Dualscar made shooing motions at him, much to the other’s annoyance, until the lead on his shackles was suspended almost in a taut line between captive and captor.

 

“Shall I remain standing, as well?” He asked, with no shortage of bitterness.

 

“Was that a rhetorical question?” Dualscar replied. Ever cutting, as usual.

 

Signless stared back at him in silence, then released a long, suffering sigh. “No,” he panned.

 

Dualscar genuinely had trouble telling whether or not he was serious. So, after a longer pause than he liked, he defaulted to answering the original question. “I don’t want you touchin’ none of my shit with your smelly, dirty hands.”

 

“Oh, dear.” Signless planted his feet into the opulent gold-and-purple carpet that covered the whole cabin floor. He then - much to Dualscar’s alarm - spread his toes, squeezed the fibers between them, and _dug in_ with his heels. “It’s a shame there’s naught to be done about my smelly, dirty feet, Captain. How _ever_ will I sit at your table?”

 

Dualscar bared a mouth full of pinpointed razor-teeth, a true threat-edged hiss of warning pouring from his throat. With no preamble, He wrapped the chain lead around his palms and _pulled._ The links snapped tight, yanking on Signless’s connected ankle bindings - it literally swept his feet right out from under him. There was a moment of shock on the other’s face from loss of footing, soon replaced with pain as he hit the ground with a heavy _thud_ and a short grunt. His head, in particular, hit the floor so hard that it actually bounced.

 

“Listen, you stubborn brat,” he snapped. “I didn’t invite you in here as a goddamn favor outta the goodness of my pusher. You need to _watch your mouth,_ or we’re gonna have ourselves an altercation that ain’t quite so kind.”

 

Signless groaned from the floor, head tipped back as he spent some time recovering from the unexpected blow to his skull. Dualscar watched him, eyes fixed on the other in a glare. “You got that? We be understandin’ one another?”

 

There wasn’t even a beat of pause before he heard a low snarl; and it was mostly the tone which surprised him. So far as he’d seen, Signless was defiant as all hell and had a lot of mouth on him, but never defaulted to aggressive displays except as a last resort. He’d never heard the other troll make such a threatening sound before. Though, it turned out, that was the least of Dualscar’s problems as Signless swung his legs back, lifting his lower body off the floor. As his knees compacted back to his shoulders, the motion caused a counter-pull on the chain lead, drawing Dualscar’s arms forward since he didn’t expect it, and couldn’t fight it in time. Signless then shot his feet forward, body rolling in one fluid motion as he kicked himself back up into a standing position. His feet planted to the floor with a solid sound as he drew himself upright - which was around the point Dualscar noticed Signless had also _grabbed the lead somehow,_ likely when his legs were scrunched back.

 

He was more prepared that time for resistance when Signless pulled him in, but the other troll still had an unusual amount of strength for someone who had only supped on water for nine days. Dualscar tightened his hold on the chain, yet Signless still managed to make him take three steps before he stopped himself just enough to halt their little tug-of-war. The surprise was evident in Dualscar’s expression as he locked eyes with Signless, who looked back at him with his ears pinned down and back, his fangs bared. It was not fear that he saw in the other’s face - it was anger.

 

“If you want to give me orders, you can do it while I’m stuck in my cell.” Signless continued, his tone remarkably even and calm: “True, I am far younger than you, and these shackles do limit my range of movement, but these things make me no less a threat. You brought me in here because you want something. You think giving me a nice plate of food will placate me into cooperation, yet nothing could be further from the truth. If you seek to keep me alive long enough to reach your Empress, I am deserving of some modicum of equal treatment _by right.”_

 

“By _right?”_ Dualscar laughed, “Don’t be absurd! Yer a _mutant!_ Ya don’t _have_ rights!”

 

“I bleed an off-spectrum hue, but I am still as Alternian as any hired hand aboard your ship!” Signless said, “And _if you want me to eat,_ you will _at least_ respect the knowledge that the only thing stopping me from taking you down right now is that I don’t know where the hell I am.”

 

It was enough to give Dualscar pause. He scrutinized Signless for a few moments, rolling the other’s words around in his thinkpan. The claims he made sounded positively ludicrous at face value. Yet there was a conviction to his posture - a certain strength, even in his weakened state - that left him not feeling quite so sure. _Could_ he pull it off? Signless had already somehow outsmarted most of his crew in many small ways, with little bits of resistance that usually ended in an injury or two. And he sure did have the tenacity to follow through on any plan he made without a doubt.

 

After careful consideration, Dualscar, keeping the chain tight between them, said: “Elaborate.”

 

Signless waited a moment or two, apparently thinking of the proper way to respond. And then he spoke, and Dualscar listened.

 

“Each time I was brought up from my cell, I was in a position where I could not read the stars. The first time was because I had to concentrate on fighting off multiple opponents; The second time, I was tied down in such a way that I could not easily scan the horizon. It was cloudy this evening when your little lackey escorted me to your cabin, so I could not get a clear look today, either. Without knowing where I am relative to the closest shore, I could theoretically escape this ship, but may very easily die within a few hours.”

 

“How would you get past me and my crew?”

 

“Use you for leverage, for so long as that would last, then make use of the tools at my discretion to finish the rest.” Signless looked around the cabin a moment, then tipped his head toward the vivid blue weapon leaning against the far wall near Dualscar’s bed. “That thing right there. I would have you take that with us to the main deck.”

 

“Ahab’s Crosshairs?” Snorted Dualscar. “That thing’s way too big an’ heavy for you. I bet you don’t even know how to use it.”

 

“It’s a plasma weapon.”

 

Dualscar was mildly stunned. “How -”

 

“I know what to look for, Captain. The tip of it is glowing. Kind of a dead give-away.” Signless snapped, “I’m not some backwater village bumpkin who’s never seen a shred of higher technology. And plasma-based firearms are absurdly simple, you check the safety and the charge and then you fucking point and shoot.”

 

Dualscar growled, pursing his lips at the way the other talked back to him. “Even if you managed to get as far as disabling me and getting the Crosshairs, the kickback alone would knock you clean off your feet.”

 

“My survival depends on my escape. I’m sure I would make do.”

 

Dualscar paused a moment. This was...admittedly not too bad for a lowblood. Not entirely put-together, but more than he would have expected from an ordinary captive. Signless at least had clear goal posts in his plan, and he seemed to more or less understand ways to try and make them happen. Even if he ended up unsuccessful, Dualscar was positive he was determined enough to at least give it a try. “The lusii and the sea-beasts would eat you for breakfast.” He asked, “How would you counteract _them?”_

 

“Cut down one of your nets of fish and take it with me,” told Signless. “I’m sure they can be distracted enough with a little bit of food. You have some rowboats rigged to the port side. I would take one of those.”

 

“Those boats ain’t meant for sailing. Be an awful long and hard trip to shore.”

 

“I could make it,” said Signless.

 

“You could starve to death. Boat could capsize. Any number of things could go wrong.”

 

There was a brief pause before Signless’s lips curled up into a smile. “Well, sometimes you just have to have a bit of faith. But I suppose if I’m so concerned I won’t make it out there in the ocean, I could always just take you with me.”

 

 _That_ idea, he couldn’t abide. “You _wouldn’t,”_ Dualscar hissed. “I’d die first.”

 

“Would you?” Asked Signless. “You don’t strike me as the type to give up at the first sign of trouble. So I believe if we’re literally in the same boat, I would _definitely_ make it to shore.”

 

Dualscar started to smile before he caught himself and forced it back into a scowl.

 

Against the west wall of the cabin was Dualscar’s ablution trap. It was as ornate as the rest of his decor, made of solid polished marble and trimmed in gold. A grate opened up overhead, and steamy, warm water poured down into the basin from above where his crew had worked tirelessly to heat it. He stared at Signless for a long time, letting the steady trickling noise fill the silence - and clear his head. He had to refrain from getting ahead of himself. He’d only met one other troll who impressed him _this much;_  and though Signless was no Mindfang, he inched much closer to that standard than Dualscar expected. It was the attitude, or at least that was his working theory. The most fleeting of pitch feelings whipped through his mind before he put a cap on it faster than one could say _aye._

 

The chain links went slack by just a touch. “You’re a smart lad,” he remarked.

 

“Thank you.” Signless replied, tone slightly visceral. “I’ll take that as a genuine compliment.”

 

The lead was lowered, if very slowly. Dualscar regarded Signless with a careful once-over, relaxing his posture a bit. “Guess I can admit when you’ve surprised me,” he said. “Maybe you ain’t such a dumb rustie after all.”

 

Signless breathed in. His nostrils flared. He forced a smile and spoke through clenched teeth. “I will _refrain_ from correcting your use of color-charged epithets.”

 

“You sure got a lotta fancy nonsense words,” Dualscar said. “How long you spend makin’ ‘em all up?”

 

“They’re not _nonsense,”_ Signless growled defensively. “It’s a legitimate way to describe the use of spectrum-based -”

 

“Yeah, ask me if I give a fuck.” Dualscar tugged on the lead to indicate that Signless should move. The other troll _glared_ at him for the interruption; he could swear he saw Signless’s teeth again. He grinned, rattling the chain links until his captive finally walked. The water stopped pouring out and the overhead grate closed, leaving the ablution trap full of fresh-heated water for a bath.

 

Dualscar held his breath as much as he could manage. When Signless was close enough, he inched a claw between the other’s chest and the top hem of his leggings. He touched like physical skin-on-skin contact would burn him if maintained too long, and regarded Signless’s black-and-red covering with disgust. It stopped just short underneath two small, soft rumble spheres, and it still infuriated Dualscar that such a piece of clothing was allowed to exist. “Now let’s get you outta this so you can quit smellin’ up my cabin.”

 

“And how do you plan to get me back into it while my feet are chained?” Signless asked.

 

Dualscar looked at him, and sneered. “I don’t.”

 

It took him a moment, but when the realization clicked, Signless was mortified. _“What?”_

 

Dualscar grinned from fin to fin, and sliced his claw down through the material. It was like ripping through paper to him. He delighted in the shocked, insulted exclamation which erupted from Signless as a result. He said nothing in protest, but he did watch in abject horror as Dualscar cut the leggings open down his legs until all he had to do was tug the offending article off, leaving Signless standing there naked as the day he emerged from his first molt.

 

In all this time, of all the things to make Signless raise his voice, the destruction of his leggings was apparently the tipping point. Even at his most furious, the crew had noted he wasn’t known much for screaming. Yet Dualscar stood there with ruined leggings in hand, and Signless, beaten head to toe in scattered patches, suddenly found the volume for it.

 

“You son of a bitch! My mother made me those!!”

 

Dualscar had never heard of such a thing, but the childish comeback alone was enough to make him laugh. “They’re ugly as hell anyway! I got sick of lookin’ at ‘em! And what the fuck is a _mother?”_

 

But tearing up his clothes had dwindled Signless’s willingness to talk, it seemed. “I’m not explaining it to you! You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Try me.” Dualscar challenged, wagging the shredded leggings around.

 

“Fuck you! You ripped up the only thing I had left on this awful ship to wear! They smell like shit and the rot would never wash out, but they were fucking mine!” Signless cried. “What are you going to do now? Send me back naked?!”

 

Dualscar furrowed his brow, regarding Signless with confusion. “Now why would I do that?”

 

“I don’t know, why _would_ you do that?” Signless demanded. “To humiliate me? Put me on display for your crew? Demonstrate my only perceived possible use as a mutant?”

 

“...‘Perceived possible use’?” Dualscar questioned, the words sitting with an odd weight on his tongue.

 

“You’re right!” Signless continued, vexed into such a state that it seemed nothing could stop him on his tirade. “Perhaps that would be far too kind! Every highblood I’ve ever met in my life only held a vested interest in killing me. Taking me for their own pleasure would be too deplorable. I’m sure you would much rather fuck a pawbeast if given the choice!”

 

Dualscar felt something in his chest seize with rage. He reached out and grabbed Signless by his hair, pulling until the other was forced on his toes, and grabbed the links between the wrist shackles to stop him flailing his arms. The strong stench of rotten chum soon became secondary to making his point.

 

“You’re making yourself some fool assumptions again, lowblood.” He growled. Signless _hissed,_ but at least he wasn’t stupid enough to risk movement. “Now if you wanna make use of that bath, I suggest you quit your bitchin’. I’ll find you a set that fits. Wouldn’t dream of marchin’ you around all skin-bare on my ship.”

 

This was preferable to what Signless expected, by the way the other looked, although still far inferior to wearing his own awful clothes. Dualscar thought he saw a question in his eyes, but eventually Signless concluded it was better not to find fault in an otherwise generous promise. That didn’t, however, prevent him from continuing to give Dualscar a hard time for _other_ things.

 

“How am I going to get dressed when you have me all chained up?”

 

But Dualscar was done entertaining the mutant’s smartass comments after that rant of his. Instead of answering, he let the other drop to his feet, then forced him towards the ablution trap. “You talk too fucking much. Get in the goddamn bath.”

 

He pushed Signless ahead until the troll nearly knocked against the side of the bath. It was deep enough that it reached mid-thigh on him; he regarded the marble masterpiece with a certain bitterness before glaring over his shoulder. Signless did a half-turn toward Dualscar and shook his wrist shackles, clanking the links together, fingers splayed.

 

“How the hell do you expect me to do anything like this?”

 

“You’ll figure it out!” Dualscar bellowed. “I ain’t yer fuckin’ lusus, and ya ain’t gettin’ outta those chains! Now get in the water ‘fore I see fit to put you there!”

 

Signless released a sharp huff, full lips thinning out into a derisive scowl. He then turned, and planted both hands on the side of the tub. In that moment, Dualscar thought he would simply try to climb in - but when Signless lifted one leg to attempt it, the chains stopped him short. The tub was far too tall for him to accomplish it unless his ankles were unbound. He gave Dualscar a pointed look behind him once more, arching an eyebrow.

 

Dualscar sensed an energy coiled up in Signless’s body when he saw that look. Suddenly, a rush of second-guessing appeared. “Fuck, okay, wait.” He said, hands up, tone changing when he figured out what Signless might try to do. “Maybe if we just -”

 

Signless didn’t even wait for him to finish.

 

He gripped the side of the ablution trap and _jumped,_ launching himself chains and all over the gold-trimmed marble lip. Dualscar howled in alarm and screamed _No gently, GENTLY!,_ but it was too late to intervene. The links rattled and clanged loudly as they dragged over the gold lace trim, and Dualscar could hear the water-deafened rumble of them scratching across the bottom of the trap. Every single scrape and scuff brought him a hair short of pusher palpitations. As if that weren’t enough, determined to add insult to injury, Signless didn’t just calmly lower himself into the water. Oh, no. He _plopped_ down, sending water sloshing over the sides, and onto Dualscar’s very expensive carpet. But the worst offense of all was just how _gleeful_ the mutant appeared when he locked eyes with Dualscar and smiled, like a pawbeast that had just hauled in an impressive kill.

 

“Gold trim is ugly as hell anyway.” He said, “I got sick of looking at it.”

 

This petty, outrageous little _fuck._

 

Dualscar glared at him, grabbed up a washing sponge and a bar of soap, and threw them both at Signless so they hit him square in the chest. Signless snarled at him for it while he wrapped up the chain lead around the towel rack to prevent him escaping, because there was _no way_ Dualscar planned to sit and watch the bastard while he bathed. He did, however, make the effort to sop up the spilled water with some spare clean towels, dabbing the mess with his feet and growling the whole time.

 

“ _Perceived possible use.”_ He spat, after a time. He spoke without thinking, angry as he was. “Ain’t nobody nowhere on this sorry-ass planet who’d wanna pail with an ugly piece of shit like you.”

 

Signless didn’t look up or acknowledge him, far more invested in figuring out a way to scrub the soap into the sponge so he could work up a lather. Dualscar took his silence as an opportunity and kept going, regarding him with utter disgust. “Even if you were somehow pretty enough to get a mate, you’re too fucking obnoxious for anyone to wanna stay with you! All your prattlin’ on about _color epithets_ and _personhood_ and fucking delusional equal society tinkerbullfuckery, who’d wanna put up with you for longer than it takes to fill a bucket, anyway?”

 

Signless held the sponge between his knees, and used his hands to scratch the soap against it and load it up with suds. “Are you finished?” He asked, never lifting his head or eyes.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Dualscar mocked, “Did I strike a nerve? Poor sad little redblood freak wants to go home?”

 

“No. I just want to scrub the stink of old meat off my skin.”

 

A short beat stretched between them before Dualscar drew himself to his full height. “...Well, better that you’re going to the Empress anyway when I’m done with you!” He snapped. “Nip your little rebellion in the bud ‘fore it even gets off the ground!”

 

“Sure.”

 

Dualscar hesitated, taking a moment to squint at him, perplexed. What the fuck happened? He was just shutting down now? He _had_ to have hit on something. Was it the comment about him being ugly?

 

“And then none of us will have to deal with your hideous face ever again,” he added, testing his theory.

 

Signless looked up. Dualscar stopped what he was doing.

 

Because there was _something_ about the tired way the troll stared at him that made his skin crawl. Plus, all he did was smile. Why the fuck was he _smiling?_

 

“Thank you for the bath, Captain. I do appreciate your generosity.”

 

The pent-up energy in the cabin completely defused. Dualscar stood there, puzzled and cowed by Signless’s deflective approach. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, he thought. This was unnatural. He felt a deep-rooted twisting in his gut as Signless waited for his answer.

 

Something was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to regret what he said.

 

“...Just fucking clean yourself up and don’t get the water everywhere, you little shit.” He snipped, picking up the soaked towels and depositing them in a nearby hamper. Dualscar turned his back and walked, putting as much distance between himself and Signless as he could spare. Being anywhere near him suddenly felt like a very bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Headcanons:
> 
> [ **[The Signless](https://crosstemporal-insurgent.tumblr.com/post/162498625516/headcanons-the-signless)** ] | [ **[Orphaner Dualscar](https://crosstemporal-insurgent.tumblr.com/post/162498622941/headcanons-dualscar)** ]


	7. [ REDACTED ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: anxiety; hyperventilating; issues with self-image mentioned**

Many Years Ago.

* * *

[] ][ [] ][ [] ][ [] ][ [] ][ [] ][ []

* * *

He splashed some clean water to his face, rubbing his hands down gently over his fresh-healed features. The scar tissue on the right side was still tender, and his eye in particular was still in a lot of pain. Some day, he would be able to take off the eyepatch resting by the cleaning basin for good - for now, though, better to keep his right eye covered until it didn’t look quite so rough.

 

Or maybe “rough” would give him a little more weight as a new Captain? Fuck. Would that be ill-advised? He was so worried about the people he recruited. Everyone was so much older than him and he needed to show some fucking _authority._ They all just assumed he was the cabin boy, which _burned him up_ to absolutely no end. Did they see anybody else operating this ship? No?! Who did they think was running this shitshow, the fucking _cook?!_

 

He didn’t want to lose the eye out of his head altogether, though. He lifted his hand, carefully touching his right cheek just under the damaged eye. What if he - no. No no no. Don’t be stupid about this, he thought. Scars already add some vweight. Showvs you earned some fights. Don’t ovwer-sell it. Just need to convwince them you’re someone vworth listening to, and you already got a scare tactic primed and goddamn ready in case they start smelling blood.

 

Yeah - yeah. This could work. It had _better_ work. All the sweat and blood and tears (NO TEARS. MEN DON’T FUCKING CRY.) of his last few-hundred-odd sweeps would be for complete shit if he couldn’t keep this new crew in line. His entire life - his whole future as he knew it - depended on the Angel’s Light. His underwater home was lost. He couldn’t remember where it was anymore. This ship was his hive now, and he would be _damned_ if he let a bunch of mouthy shithead adults take it away from him after what he pulled off to claim it.

 

He clutched the sides of the chief’s worn, old vanity, digging his claws into the soft wood to stop his hands from shaking. His pusher was thumping hard in his chest. He breathed in deep - through his nose, his gills - then exhaled. Inhale. Exhale.

 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” He muttered. The chant was barely audible even to him; a prayer to banish the trembling in his nerves and still the shudder in his muscles. “C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. C’mon.”

 

He inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. He couldn’t keep his breaths steady. They picked up faster than he liked. He looked at his own ugly reflection in the mirror and smacked the vanity, glaring at himself.

 

“Come the FUCK on! Vwhat are you, a fuckin’ snivweling little grub? Can’t evwen quit yer shakin’ vwhen the goin’ gets tough?!”

 

He had to be sharp. He had to be mean. Had to be unforgiving, and dictatorial, and CRUEL. They would listen to cruelty - it was the only language anyone ever seemed to speak on this ship. Get mean. Get _MEAN!_

 

What would the chief have done? That was what he thought about. His gut twisted up sharply on reflex, but ~~[NOBODY]~~ persevered, because if nothing else, the chief knew how to run a tight crew. He didn’t understand near anything else worth a damn sometimes, but he knew how to get what he wanted. Knew how to make everyone bend to his will. Now _that_ had been a Captain - he should know. The old man taught him everything he knew now. Everything except how to be Captain, really. But he liked to think he’d picked up quite a bit through observation.

 

(What would the chief have done?)

 

He made his most threatening face into the mirror. He bared his teeth and pinned his ear-fins forward - even the sliced one that was all messed up on the bottom now. The awful violet of his eyes was already filled in now, but he could use that to his advantage. Made him look older. He already had the body for it: tall and chiseled and packed with lean muscle that was common (and considered attractive) for seadwellers. Now he just needed his brain to follow suit. Had to trick himself into it; had to believe he was _already_ a great Captain, even though he’d never had his own crew outside of those first few glorious moments after the chief died and it had ended in a horrible mutiny.

 

Every good Captain started off with a mutiny though, he figured. It was like a rite of passage. All Captains had mutiny stories, especially Orphaners, and he’d weathered out his fair share working under the old chief.

 

He was still having trouble with the facial expression. Something was missing. He needed - what the fuck did he need? His features relaxed as he thought about it, but that made it worse, because he’d slipped up and slipping up was a weakness. He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “Jesus! Vwhat the fuck. Come _on._ Gotta go out there and make ‘em step, and ya can’t do that vwithout a good face.”

 

He alternated between drumming his claws and gripping the vanity anxiously. His foot started to tap. He made a rhythm out of it because it helped him to focus. Think. Think think think think think think. Things that are mean. Things that are threatening. Things that make a person’s gut wrench and make them want to strip a barkbeast down for dinner. What fell in line with that?

 

There was the fact that nearly everyone called him Cabin Boy. He _snarled_ and held the expression, staring at himself, even though he hated it. Nope. Still not there. Needs more. Needs more _something._ He cycled through his memories: bits and chunks of things, all of the things he hated about the previous crew and about this ship. Everything that ever made him sour. Everything that ever made him want with every fiber of his being to _get his own command._ Eventually, he settled on the memory of the face of the best Orphaner he ever knew.

 

Thought about what he’d looked like when he was in control. All regal and mighty, straight in his posture and strong in his gaze. It made him want to vomit - he took that and leaned into the mirror, showing off the serration in his teeth, hissing, fins and gills flared wide. All his features all scrunched up as he gathered the air in his lungs and the snarl bubbled and boiled and built up until it spilled over into a _roar._

 

Holy shit, though, what an expression! It actually made him draw back, and it was a struggle not to lose it. He studied it for a bit, taking in the primal display. He imagined what it would look like when speaking to a group of trolls. Imagined what he would have done if he’d seen a face as mean as that.

 

His snarl turned into a smile. He bit his bottom lip and clapped his hands together, pointing at his reflection. “That’s it.” He said, chuckling in victory. “Right there. That’s the face. That’s the vwinning look, right there! Yes!” He punched the vanity surface with a grunt, satisfied with his work. “ _Fuck_ yes!” He leaned in until he could see the violet of his irises, almost touching his nose to the reflective surface. “Ain’t so damn hard nowv, is it?”

 

He could at least, if nothing else, thank the chief for showing him how to really take control of a situation. He could thank the chief for teaching him all the important lessons in life: how to work a ship, how to make the most of every opportunity, and - most importantly - how to tap into the rage and the cruelty he had in him all along.

 

No more whining. No more daydreaming. No more blaming others for his problems and avoiding his responsibilities.

  
Now the only thing standing between ~~A m p o r a~~ and becoming a great Orphaner was the fact that he needed a name.


	8. Parlay [ II ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: nudity ; implied ogling ; discussion of slave trade ; implied/referenced rape ; asphyxiation (choking)**
> 
>  
> 
> Also a blanket warning to go with the choking that Dualscar is more than a little questionably fucked up.

For a time, left to his own at his writing desk, Dualscar kept his back to the signless troll in his tub. Thankfully, after the confusing spat from mere minutes before, he gave his Captain very little trouble. Soft splashing and drippings of water could be heard with the occasional clinking of the chains, but it seemed Signless wasn’t getting his carpet all soaked again and got on well enough making himself clean. Dualscar, for his part, buried himself in his own interests and tried not to lend any weight to the thoughts passing through his mind. He didn’t want to imagine what drove Signless to be so non-confrontational or why he was so oddly haggard after the argument. It made perfect sense that he would be tired. The stubborn bastard hadn’t eaten in nine days.

 

While the stench of rotten chum slowly (but surely) disappeared the cleaner Signless got, the chef eventually came by, knocking on the door before bringing in two full trays of food with some help from the kitchen staff. They didn’t say anything; just looked at their Captain, who acknowledged them with a returned glance and little else. He grunted, non-syllabic, and waved his hand to the cloth-covered table. They deposited their delivery in the proper spots, beastblood wine and all, then left after a cursory glance to the mutant troll. The food smelled absolutely  _ divine.  _ It made Dualscar feel a little better about the possible outcome of this invitation. Surely no troll as hungry as Signless could resist the savory, mouth-watering scent of the fresh spiced meats and creamy soups now adorning the table.

 

He thought he heard a soft inhale from the bath; Dualscar’s mouth curled up into a little smirk. He then said the first thing to Signless since the fight, mood completely changed. “Mmmmm, smell that?” He groaned. “Seems the cook made somethin’ special for ya. Smells like somethin’ fried. Probably from that shark we got a little ways back. You ever had shark?”

 

He looked over to gauge Signless’s reaction. He expected at least a modicum of curiosity, at the minimum - but the other troll didn’t even look up from what he was doing. He had the sponge pressed against one shoulder, wet sky-black hair sticking to his cheeks and forehead with his head dipped down. The angle was awkward, shackles forcing him to cross his far arm over his throat and turn one hand out of the way to try and inch the sponge across the back of his neck. The lack of reaction was as frustrating as it was disappointing. Dualscar drummed his claws on his desk, corners of his mouth twisting into a scowl.

 

He sighed, loud and laboring. “Well, I guess now at least y’won’t cover up the good smells with your rank self.”

 

Finally, Signless obliged conversation, though his eyes remained lowered in concentration. The amount of time that passed between them was apparently enough for him to find his center again - enough to be tolerable, at least. “You know,  _ you  _ were the one who commanded things done to me that made me smell so bad.”

 

“Point being?”

 

Signless ignored the question. Instead, he replied: “I can’t get my back.”

 

Dualscar watched, blank-faced, as Signless stared back at him. He arched in demonstration and lifted his arms, trying to position the sponge between his shoulder blades. It thrust out the wet, warmth-softened suckling points on his rumble spheres in a way that had the Captain forcing his eyes elsewhere and cursing the hormonal onset of breeding season. He tried instead to think of the pretty little oliveblood from the cells. (He never took a peek while she was in the bath; that would be disrespectful. But he did wonder what she would look like, dressed down out of the clothes he gave her, halo of horns among thick curls, laid out across his sheets where he could touch her.)

 

“And?” He grunted, irritation pressing to the back of his tongue.

 

Signless arched an eyebrow, then made another motion that showed his limited range of movement. “I can’t get my arms, either.”

 

It was only in hindsight that Dualscar realized perhaps trying to leave Signless to bathe and dress himself with shackled wrists and ankles was, in fact, a less than ideal plan. Especially when his opinion of a perfect interaction was to stay as far away as possible. “How is that my problem?”

 

“Seriously?” Signless panned, “Are you going to blame me for the lingering smell if I can’t scrub it  _ all  _ off?”

 

“Told ya, I ain’t yer lusus.” Dualscar growled, “Ain’t my job to getcha cleaned and dressed.”

 

“Let me out of these chains, then, so I can take care of myself in a more able fashion.”

 

“Are you nuts? After you just laid out from start to finish the ways you might try to escape the ship?”

 

“Ah, yes.” Signless argued, “I absolutely am foolish enough to do  _ exactly  _ what I said I would consider doing after  _ telling you  _ about it. I see your kind remarks about my intelligence were surface-deep at best.”

 

Dualscar narrowed his eyes. “You got an infuriating ability to only listen to what you wanna hear, you know that? Didn’t we just have this whole fucking go-around about your attitude and your need to correct it?”

 

Signless rolled his eyes. “Listen,” he grumbled, “if you are going to complain about something afflicting me which is beyond my control, and then force me to do labor which requires freedom of movement, you can’t then also complain about my need for assistance. I am trying to abide your wishes not only as a courtesy, but because I also want it gone as much as you do. But you can’t deny that  _ you  _ put me in this rutting position, so you can’t possibly feel so entitled as to make a fuss about both ends of the problem. Way I see it is either you  _ help me  _ -”

 

Dualscar snarled, rising from his chair with a bitter look on his face. He cut Signless off with an upset growl that had the other straightening his spine a bit before the sponge was snatched from his hands.

 

“If I knew you had such a knack for bitchin’ out my sponge clots I woulda done this sooner,” Dualscar hissed.

 

He squeezed a small bit of fresh soap into the textured sponge and worked it to a sudsing point before roughly pressing it to Signless’s back. The smell was much less now that he’d been soaking and washing for a while, but there was still a lingering reek of old entrails. The problem appeared to mostly lay along Signless’s spine: his molting stages had blessed him with lines of chitinous plates starting from the base of his neck. They thickened to a fat width between his shoulder blades, well-layered and good for protection, then tapered to an almost delicate point in the small of his back. Dualscar had to dig the sponge between the plates to scrape away the bits that got stuck underneath them. He’d heard stories of such growths on some of the land-dwellers, but he never had the opportunity to see it on any of them up close. Certainly not under such favorable lighting.

 

There was a soft muttering of a  _ thank you  _ that Dualscar ignored, along with the gentle sighs as he brushed the sponge in quick strokes up and down Signless’s back. Up until he pressed down at the other’s neck to get a little lower. That, he didn’t appear to appreciate.

 

“ _ Ow. _ ”

 

“Never told me t’be gentle,” Dualscar pointed out.

 

“I suppose I wouldn’t expect you to.”

 

“Wouldn’t expect to consider it.”

 

“What?” Signless asked, his tone surprisingly cross, “Does the very act of touching my ugliness upset you?”

 

Dualscar reached up and grabbed a fistful of wet hair between his fingers as a warning, eliciting a rough grunt as a result. He focused very hard on working away the caked-on rot and grime until there was nothing to see or smell. He didn’t allow himself time to marvel on the stormy dark-gray color of Signless’s skin, or the brick-red freckling patterned into it in smatters. Cleaning him was also made all the more frustrating by the soft layer of fuzz he possessed all over.

 

When he was done with the troll’s back, Dualscar pushed him upright. “Turn and gimme your arms.”

 

Signless obliged, facing his captor from the tub and stretching out his chained-up wrists. Dualscar started with the right limb and did the same process as before, rubbing out the dirt and getting deep under the layered chitin on Signless’s forearms. They were squeezed tight beneath the cuffs; they barely fit around his wrists. Dualscar stuck to his work - he watched where his fingers went, thinking about getting rid of the smell. Nothing else interesting to see, even though he did find himself a bit fascinated. It was idle, though. Nothing important. There was nothing strange or eye-catching about the miniscule curves of his chest or the chitinous plating; matter of fact, Dualscar found Signless amazingly  _ boring  _ to look at for an abomination. Shouldn’t a living troll with such a horrible blood mutation be a little more  _ mutated?  _ The only thing about him that really stuck out was the radiant temperature that clung to his red-freckled skin like a shield. He was warmer even than the hottest shade of rust. How was he not dead from the fever? Where did it all come from?

 

“I’d like it better if you wouldn’t stare.”

 

Dualscar looked up after a short pause, and leered at Signless, insulted. “I wasn’t staring,” he objected.

 

Signless, frowning, retaliated: “You  _ most certainly  _ were.”

 

“I don’t stare.” Dualscar growled, which just made the troll blink back at him with eyebrows raised. “Besides, you ain’t nothin’ special. Maybe I was lookin’ to see if you had a third set of arms.”

 

This seemed to annoy Signless more than anything else. He  _ sighed,  _ like he had accepted his lot in this suffering moment. “Well, what a shame. I’ve only had the one since I left my first molt.”

 

Dualscar made a low, rattling seadweller’s noise from the back of his throat. “Just shut up and let me clean your damn arms. Anything to get you out of my ablution trap after you practically  _ marred  _ it.”

 

* * *

 

Getting him dressed and dried was no less awkward than washing him, but it looked like at least - thank whatever Gods smiled down on him in favor - Signless was almost as embarrassed about the whole situation as he was, if not moreso. Trying to even get the damn clothes on him was an exercise in leaps of logic which eventually ended with Signless rolling his eyes, stating he had too many things on the line with this negotiation to even consider breaking out of the chains. Even then, Dualscar didn’t believe him until the very moment itself. And it turned out that, yes - once Signless was in a permanently borrowed set of clothes, he was not only covered up and comfortable, but didn’t try to assault Dualscar even once. The seadweller Captain supposed there was a certain honor among heathens, after all.

 

So they could finally,  _ finally  _ after all the fuss and hullabaloo of his guest’s smelly arrival,  _ get the fuck on with it.  _ At least the food was still warm once they were sitting down. Not that Signless was keen to even poke it with one blunt claw, the ungrateful bastard. He just sat there, not even bothering to touch his food. He sure stared at it a lot though - Dualscar could tell he was definitely  _ hungry,  _ he just wasn’t partaking. And after all the effort he went through to secure this delectable meal, that in itself was patently insulting.

 

“Ain’t you even gonna have a bite?” He asked, finally unable to stand how Signless just sat there like a lump on a log while he chewed through portion after portion on his own plate. “Strike’s over, lad. I’m listenin’ to what you have to say.”

 

Signless lifted his eyes, regarding Dualscar with that same cold, blank look he received back when he’d berated the other in the bath. “The hunger strike isn’t over until we reach a proper agreement over my terms.”

 

Dualscar immediately scowled. “I got you a damn good meal, and I say you show respect to your Captain by eating it.”

 

“You really have no idea how this leverage works, do you?” Asked Signless.

 

If the tone wasn’t enough to set him off, the way the lowblood looked at him like he was supposed to be smarter somehow sure was, and Dualscar could  _ barely  _ contain his frustration after all the struggle of getting Signless cleaned, dressed, and sat down in his chains. He inhaled long and deep, then exhaled slowly, fins and gills flaring wide a moment before smoothing once more. Sensing his apparent distress, Signless continued: “If I start eating my food before we’ve even begun negotiations, there’s a much higher chance you’ll refuse my request. You want me to reach the Empress’s palace alive. Your considering what I lay on the table is connected to that. I didn’t commit to this moment only to crack at the first sight of a full plate - however delectable it may be.”

 

“Fine.” Dualscar snipped, setting his utensils down and drumming his claws on the table, impatient. “What’s yer terms, then? What’re we gonna do to getcha eating again?”

 

Signless took a moment to straighten his posture, however brief. Dualscar could hear the clatter of his chains as he did so, and watched with pointed intent as the other closed his eyes, breathed deep, then let it out - not too different from how Dualscar himself had done earlier. Just calmer. Although the words which left Signless’s mouth next were more stunning than the Captain thought himself ready for.

 

“I want you to immediately cease all administration of those awful sopor mixtures to the trolls being held in cargo.”

 

Dualscar felt a record scratch scrape along the inside of his skull. He blinked rapidly, thinking he must have heard wrong. He thought Signless would ask for something simple and stupid - more amicable treatment aboard the ship, a proper set of clothes, better food...something small, something that would be easy to placate. Hell, he even considered what would happen if Signless  _ didn’t  _ go that route, and indeed a few options had crossed his mind as far as things he might ask for in representation of the cargo slaves.  _ This,  _ however, was a monumental request.

 

He tried to cover up his surprise with a derisive snort. “Are you daft?”

 

Signless only arched an eyebrow, unafraid. “Are you?”

 

“Watch it.”

 

“I only mean that I don’t plan on taking back the request.” Signless said, “Those are my terms. I want you to stop stupefying every single one of those poor souls, and I want it stopped  _ tonight. _ ”

 

“Have you any idea how ludicrous you sound?” Dualscar asked him. He spanned his ear-fins again in a threatening display. “If I do that, who knows how the hell they’re gonna act when we reach the shore and have to put them up for sale? And do you see of any other way for them to get their rest? The medicine the doc gives ‘em for sleep is  _ in  _ the sopor. Otherwise it just plain fucks ‘em up.”

 

“I know very well what you put in it.” Signless replied, narrowing his eyes. “Serpen explained it to me. I still don’t approve. He says the medicine can be administered perfectly well on its own through injection; you only choose to mix it with the sopor because it keeps them stupid when they’re not knocked out cold.”

 

“Oh, please.” Snarled Dualscar, “It ain’t like it lasts  _ all day.  _ It’s enough to get ‘em goin’ before they go to sleep, keep ‘em happy when they wake up.”

 

“Be that as it may, you can’t continue to treat them this way if you want me to eat.” Signless replied.

 

“That ain’t a negotiaton!” Dualscar reeled back, angry and annoyed. “It’s a fucking ultimatum! Who do you think you are, telling me how to run my ship?”

 

“I’m not telling you how to run your ship.” Signless replied, voice turning dark. “I’m asking you to have some modicum of fucking decency and give these people the sound state of mind that they deserve. I think given how much you’ll make off each their heads when you inevitably sell them, it’s a very small price to pay in exchange for the additional coin you’ll make off of mine.”

 

Dualscar flicked his hands up, letting them drop again to the table with a loud  _ smack  _ in irritation. “Why fucking bother if ya ain’t gonna try and bust ‘em out? What’s the point?”

 

“They’re people, Captain.” Signless said. “Ordinary people like you or I -”

 

“ _ Don’t. _ ” He snarled, jabbing a finger at Signless in accusation as he interrupted. “Don’t put us on the same level, mutant. You and me are different as night and day, and that’s how it’s  _ always  _ gonna be.”

 

Signless glared at him, then moved on, keeping his stare fixed. “ _ Regardless,  _ they deserve to have the choice of keeping a clear head when they’re sold on the block.”

 

“I’m an Orphaner, preacher boy.” Dualscar growled out, “I run a slaver’s ship, not a pleasure cruise. Besides, in the long run, keeping ‘em dumb and placid does ‘em a favor. If they fight back against their new masters, gives ‘em such a tendency to not be quite so kind.”

 

Signless pressed his spine to the back of his chair, drawing up his shoulders as his eyes went wide. “How can you say robbing them of all logical thought is a  _ courtesy?” _

 

“I guarantee you if we stop passing those cups out,” Dualscar hissed, “More’n half of ‘em will still sup on it anyway.”

 

“Of course that could happen, because you push them to believe they don’t have any other way to be when they’re in your care!” Signless’s chains rattled as he lifted his hands and flattened them to the table, wide round ears pinned back. “But they deserve to have the  _ option!  _ That’s all I beg of you, Captain - that they have the opportunity to choose for themselves!”

 

“Listen to you, with such pretty little thoughts in your head.” Dualscar’s shoulders slumped, and he relaxed in his seat, spreading his legs a bit under the table. He glowered at Signless as he continued, arms crossed over his chest except for the occasional flicker of a gesture. “What do you think you’re accomplishing for them? The opportunity to be awake and aware while they change hands? What could any sane slave want with that? I ain’t never met a one who was so eager to greet their master with a smile.”

 

“Have you ever even bothered to speak with them?” Signless demanded. “Forgive me for being so forward, but I find it quite difficult to believe a troll so cold in hue as yourself ever tried to connect with the people he’s stuffed in his brig.”

 

“Why would I care when it’s better for all of us this way!” Snapped Dualscar. “There was such an age aboard this ship where they would sit all frightful and wild-eyed in the hold, then you put ‘em up for sale and they start sniveling faster than you can blink. Is that what you want for ‘em? You’d take ‘em off their chains and give ‘em their new leash and it was like the universal cue for them to start shitting themselves. Doesn’t turn a pretty profit when you can’t sell a good slave that won’t cause issue. Even worse for the one gettin’ sold if their owner is of the meaner type!”

 

Signless scratched his blunt claws against the table with surprising force - Dualscar thought he could hear some splintering. It bothered him that the mutant was making a mess of his good furniture but seeing as all Signless did besides that was look at him with death and murder in his eyes, he kept spinning the conversation to make his point. “Hell, I’ve even sold a few heads to the Grand Highblood!” He leaned forward, cold violet eyes matching Signless’s heated vibrant red ones. “You wanna know what  _ he  _ does with the extra-pretty ones he finds ain’t broken in enough for his liking? Those ones I keep  _ especially  _ dumbed down, or the horrors he inflicts on his pleasure toys would break them in the span of a snap. Believe me, sweetness.”

 

Something in Signless’s expression curdled on that last note. Dualscar ignored it. “It ain’t like I’m doing this outta the goodness of my sinless little pusher, but you just can’t argue the clear benefits this has for your lowblood buddies down there in the hold.”

 

Despite the hunger clutching his insides like an angry parasite, Signless suddenly stood from his chair, the legs scooting with an unpleasant scrape across the carpet, skipping a couple times from the force before settling. He kept his hands pressed to the table with a boundless conviction and a fire blazing in his eyes. And he was so  _ loud  _ when he reacted - not shouting, but louder than the gentle condescending tones he’d used thus far, and it had Dualscar pulling back at the table in brief alarm.

 

“What would you know of preventing suffering when you only know how to cause it?!”

 

Dualscar started to pull himself up to full height and lean in, releasing a sharp, watery hiss from low in his throat. He could only take so much brazen behavior before it was time to throw his weight around a bit. “What makes you think you know what’s better for ‘em any more than I do?” He shot back.  _ “You  _ wanna take care of ‘em, then?!”

 

“I  _ am  _ taking care of them!” Signless snapped. “While you lounge about this splendorous cabin in your bubble of fineries and perfection, they suffer the treatment you permit on them in those tiny cages! Some of them tremble like leaves in the wind when the sopor wears off, and when they wake up in the dark, in  _ chains,  _ reminded of where they are instead of where they ought to be, their tears alone could color the whole spectrum! Your people berate and degrade them and say they’ll never be better than what some well-paid coldblood declares of their worth - I listen to their pain as they beg for the comforts of homes they know they’ll never see again! I tell them stories of the forests and fields and deserts and seashores they hail from each night while  _ you  _ order them drugged to silence, because anything,  _ anything  _ is better than the sound of crying, or of  _ nothing,  _ as they huddle in the corners of their cells! You can’t possibly know how your so-called  _ beneficial  _ treatment makes them ache because you refuse to feel any empathy in your heart! You don’t ‘take care’ of them - you exploit them in their lowest moments and wrap it up in lies, then package it as the more preferable  _ shit option  _ among many! How dare you claim to know what’s best for them when you can’t even look past the glimmer of the coin from your buyers?!”

 

“That ain’t carin’ for ‘em, it’s  _ babyin’  _ their asses until they get sold!” Dualscar roared. “You do ‘em  _ no  _ favors whatsoever tellin’ ‘em about the things they’ll never again see or smell or taste! What good’s it do to soften the fucking blow? All that’ll do is drag them through the mire until they figure out this is where they’re gonna be! Better you dash their hopes on the rocks at the start - at least with that, they’ll have a new set of standards fit for the life they’re about to be given!”

 

Signless stood on the points of his toes; he had to balance himself against the table as he did so, but this didn’t seem to bother him, nor did it make him shrink away when it brought him inches from Dualscar’s face and his looming posture. “You can’t call yourself a generous man in the same breath as you force these people into complacence by stripping them of their agency!”

 

“Can’t I?!” Dualscar bellowed in challenge.

 

Signless screamed back, fangs sharp, breath hot. “You’ve convinced yourself that this method of yours is a softening quality, but all it does is put them out of their own heads from the time you snap the shackles on their wrists ‘til the instant a leash is around their neck! You’re demolishing their sense of self! They’ll forget everything about the in-between at this rate because they have no knowledge of anything else down there but darkness and despair! Can you even comprehend the kind of shock that must create?! One moment they are breathing free air and living their lives, and then there’s  _ you,  _ and then suddenly - with no granted context except a horrible, mindless boat ride from one town to another - a life where they will be beholden to another until they get culled, or until they  _ die!” _

 

“Do you know what happens to escaped slaves when they get it in their heads that they can choose their lot in life?!” Dualscar demanded, practically spitting as he fired back. “One way or another, they get caught and sold again, provided they aren’t killed on the spot for insulting their masters! What profit are you granting them by letting them believe they can choose _ anything  _ for themselves?!”

 

Signless  _ hissed,  _ stilling for a moment or two. He looked like he wanted to say something, but for a long time following that statement, he just  _ stared.  _ It got to the point that he found it unsettling, being almost nose-to-nose with this stubborn prick of a mutant and the red-hot look of determination set to his eyes and jaw.

 

“What?!” Yelled Dualscar, almost pressing their foreheads together when he lunged.

 

Signless responded soon enough, but all of a sudden his tone - angry though it was - had grown oddly calm. “How often have you captured the same slave twice, Captain?”

 

Dualscar paused, as if sensing a trick. They both remained glaring at one another, neither of them backing down. “Never, but -”

 

“Then why bring that up?” Signless snapped. “What point do you now dare make? If you’re  _ so certain  _ most, if not all of those trolls will choose the sopor over sobriety, why bother fighting my demands?”

 

There was a short pause between them. It took him a while, but soon enough, the realization dawned on Dualscar that Signless had just looped them back around to a quintessential end for this entire negotiation process. An end which  _ he  _ had technically put forth  _ several moments ago.  _ And yet, for whatever reason, he - they - just...kept going. For what reason?

 

Why the fuck had he done that?

 

Dualscar let loose a hard, throaty snarl, slamming his hand to the table. “I will not be bullied about in my own goddamn cabin by some fucking self-righteous pariah over the alleged mistreatment of my cargo!”

 

“Oh, is that what this is?” Demanded the other troll. “Are you trying to convince me of my misguided ways, as well as refusing what seems to otherwise be a very simple request? Which, based on what I’m hearing, will supposedly have no impact on your operation whatsoever?”

 

Dualscar blinked rapidly, then bared needle-sharp teeth. “What the fuck are you on about!!”

 

“Nothing that you have argued since this shouting match began indicates to me that you will be hindered if you stop feeding sopor to the slaves in the hold.” Signless growled. “Rather, you claim they will instead choose to take it regardless. Why speak on anything else, then? Why talk about how beneficial you feel these doses are in preparing them for eternal servitude when you apparently have nothing to be concerned over?”

 

He couldn’t do this. This was absolutely unacceptable.

 

Dualscar’s hand snapped out before Signless could stop it, and closed tight around his throat. He gasped - and what a pretty sound it was, thought Dualscar - shock rolling over the other’s features a moment before it melted right back into that familiar rage, boiling just under the surface of his skin now that he’d let off some of the steam. He leaned in close, until Signless could surely feel the cold of his breath on that freakishly-hot skin of his. “Don’t you fuckin’ talk in circles ‘round me after I had the cook make you this meal,” he growled. “How dare you? You think you can come in here and just demand what you please ‘cause you think starving yourself gives you some kinda power over me?”

 

Signless smiled at him. It was fucking  _ infuriating. _

 

“Doesn’t it?” He wondered, breath straining between Dualscar’s fingertips. “I couldn’t care less if I die in that hold.”

 

“You’re lying,” Dualscar hissed.

 

“Mmmm.” Signless grunted, twitching a bit as he strained to keep his toes on the floor. His shackled hands came up and wrapped around Dualscar’s forearm; Dualscar found it nearly scorching his skin if he focused on it too hard. “You have complete control over my fate at this point,” he said. His voice was getting raspy and Dualscar could feel each pulse of his throat as he struggled to swallow. “I’ve always known - since I was a child - I am living on borrowed time. On my own, I am nothing. My value is in...what I do for other people along the way.”

 

Dualscar kept his grip tight, glaring at the shorter troll, as a frigid chill coiled down his spine. Because it hit him in that moment that the words coming out of Signless’s mouth were genuine. Which was problematic. And  _ terrifying. _

 

Because it was  _ significantly  _ harder to control a slave who didn’t care whether they woke up breathing the next day.

 

He really couldn’t explain what possessed him to close his fingers around Signless’s throat until he no longer had any room to gulp for air. Dualscar tried to get as tight a grip on his own thoughts as he had on the other’s neck, but all he could feel was coiling heat beneath his palm, Signless’s words echoing in his head. Was he just testing the mutant to see if he would change his mind? Was he just fed up with trying to handle the son of a bitch? Either way, what did it say about his own competence if he let one lousy little lowblood get the better of him?

 

Signless never moved. He looked right at Dualscar, eye to eye, even as his vision  _ had  _ to be swimming as he got close to unconsciousness. What little air he had in him came and went in short puffs and throat-caught noises that set the nerve endings in Dualscar’s spine alight from top to bottom. He breathed in deep as Signless rolled his eyes shut, and just when Dualscar knew the tipping point was nigh - where the poor bastard’s body would struggle regardless of what his mouth declared - he felt a deadly grip on his insides and flung Signless out of hand, and into his seat. The shorter troll slumped forward with an awful gasp, head lolling down against the polished wood in front of him. Dualscar pushed it down until Signless had his forehead pressed to the table.

 

“Eat. Your food.” He commanded, letting up only enough to give Signless room to lift his head.

 

Signless, still coughing and wheezing, now dizzy on top of the stabbing hunger pains in his stomach, reached with shackled hands for the knife placed so properly to one side of his untouched plate. Dualscar waited, and watched, thinking a miracle about to occur.

 

And that was when Signless took the knife, and scraped every perfect, well-cooked helping of food onto the meticulously stained wood surface of the table.

 

“You blind, stupid fuck.”

 

Dualscar circled around to Signless’s side. With no preamble, he hauled the troll up by his wrist shackles and dragged him, chains and all, up the stairs and out the door, shouting for Reynah to open the signless one’s cell door as he marched toward the cargo hold.

 

* * *

 

I put on quite a show after that little altercation. My old chief would have been disappointed in me. If I dared to share any of that as a story at a bar, Mindfang and half the establishment would have laughed me right out the door. In any case, I suppose it goes without saying that everyone steered clear of me for a while, and they didn’t question how the invitation went. Everyone assumed I had shown the little brat what for until I gave the order to let the slaves choose whether they would partake in their sopor doses that night.

 

I waited until the storm had passed, so to speak, before venturing into the brig. When the ship was down to a skeleton crew and no one would see me carrying the loaf of bread and glass of water to Signless’s cell.

 

* * *

 

He stood across from Signless’s cell, presenting both boons through the bars while Signless glared at him.

 

Dualscar waggled the loaf of bread at him. “Well? This was the fucking agreement. Don’t be a little shit about it now when I’m giving you your second pain-free fucking meal of th -”

 

Signless grabbed the bread, digging in with blunt claws, and tore off the biggest bite Dualscar had ever seen a single troll take. In a disturbing contrast following, with a more polite flourish, he removed the water glass from Dualscar’s other hand as his eyes rolled back and he released a long, low sigh. Probably relief. From actually getting some food in his belly.

 

He watched until Signless had single-handedly devoured the entire loaf and downed the whole glass of water in one shot, small sips be damned. Then Dualscar waited a little while after, too, because the thought crossed his mind of what if this slick little fucker was just playing him for a fool and he decided to  _ throw it all up anyway? _

 

Signless looked up at him from inside the cell, red eyes gleaming in the dark. “Can I fucking help you?” He snapped.

 

Dualscar was surprised at the sharpness in his tone, but then again, given the events of the day, he supposed it wasn’t so uncharacteristic after all. He looked around again at all the cages that had cargo still sitting in them, then back at Signless. He’d noticed the outcome of making the sopor doses optional as soon as he came in, but saying it aloud in Signless’s presence somehow made it that much more unbelievable. He almost wanted to just blink and will forth a different set of results.

 

“Just noticed almost nobody’s had their sopor.”

 

“Yeah.” Signless replied, like Dualscar was all the more witless for not expecting it. “Maybe you don’t know better for them as much as you think you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The dinner table scene turned out waaaayyyyy more borderline caliginous than I originally intended it to be. Or is that just me?? Either way, send help. Preferably in the form of a priest.)
> 
>  **[NEXT UPDATE ON HIATUS.]** (I know, I know!! I'm very sorry. If you're still interested in what I'll be putting here I encourage you to mark this in any way you find appropriate so you don't miss when this starts up again. It hopefully won't be longer than another week or so, but life and lack of inspiration has REALLY gotten in the way. Thank you for giving me a chance!)


End file.
